^ , 


"PICKED  UP  HERE  AND  THERE" 


^    B  U 


AND 


|*"Gleanings  From  The  Gullies" 


Price  $1.00 


Published  and  For  Sale  By 

J.    C.    STUTTS, 

Hia>v   River,   N.   G. 


'..  X,,  % 


"Picked  Up  Here  and  There" 


AND 


From  The  Gullies" 


IPublished  and  For  Sale  By 

J.    C.    STUTTS, 

JHa^w   River,    N.    C. 


J.  C.  STUTTS  and  father  G.  D.  STUTTS 


G.  D.  Stutts  was  born  in  Moore  County,  N.  C,  March  22,  1842,  and 
moved  to  Alamance  in  1886.  He  was  the  author  of  ' '  Picked  Up  Here  and 
There,"  which  had  a  large  sale  in  Alamance  and  surrounding  counties. 
He  died  April  30,  1918. 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 


"Picked  Up  Here  and  There'*  and  "Gleanings  from  the  Gullies" 
is  composed  of  poetry,  wit,  and  useful  information,  part  of  which  was 
fathered  by  G.  D.  Stutts,  of  Alamance  County  for  publication  in  book 
form,  but  who  died  before  perfecting  the  same.  His  son,  J.  C.  Stutts, 
has  decided  to  finish  the  work  as  a  memorial  to  his  father  and  herewith 
presents  the  work  to  the  public,  feeling  that  it  is  worthy  of  its  ap- 
p  roval. 


I 


U^ ' ' 


''Picked  up  Here  and  There''  and  ^ ' Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.''        5. 


THE  MODEL  CHURCH. 

Well,  wife,  I've  found  the  model  church. 

And  worshiped   there,   today; 
It  made  me  think  of  good  old  times, 

Before  my  hair  was  gray, 
The   meeting-house  was  finer  built 

Than   they  were   years   ago, 
But  then,  I  found  when  I  went  in. 

It   was   not  built   for   show. 

The   sexton   did  not  sit  me   down 

Away  back  by  the  door, 
He  knew  that  I  was  old  and  deaf. 

And  saw  that  I  was  poor. 
He  must  have  been- a  Christian  man, 

He  led  me  boldly  through 
The  crowded  aisle  of  that  grand  church 

To  find  a  pleasant  pew. 

I  wish  you^I  heard  that  singing,  wife, 

It  had  the   old-time  ring; 
The  preacher   said,  with   trumpet   voice, 

''Let  all  the  people  sing!" 
''Old  Coronation"  was  the  tune. 

The  music  upward  rolled. 
Until  I  thought  the  angel-choir 

Struck   all   their   harps    of   gold.  ^ 

My  deafness  seemed  to  melt  away, 

My  spirit  caught  the  fire; 
I  joined  my  feeble,  trembling  voice 

With  that  melodious  choir, 
And  sang  as  in  my  youthful  days, 

"Let    angels    prostrate    fall; 
Bring  forth  the  royal   diadem 

And  crown  him  Lord  of  all!" 


The  preacher!  well,  I  can't  just  tell 

All  that  preacher  said, 
I  know  it  wasn't  written — 

I  know  it  wasn't  read; 
He  hadn't  time  to  read  it,  for 

The  lightning  of  his  eye 
Went  flashing   'long  from  pew  to  pew 

Nor  passed  a  sinner  by. 

'Twas  not  a  flow'ry  sermon,  wife, 

But  simple  Gospel  truth, 
It  fitted  humble  men,  like  me; 

It   suited  hopeful  youth; 
To   win   immortal   souls  to   Christ 

The   earnest  preacher  tried; 
He  talked  not  of  himself  or  creed, 

But   Jesus,    crucified. 

'How  swift  the  golden  moments  flew, 

Within  this  holy  place! 
How  brightly  beamed  the  light  of  heaven^ 

From  every  happy  face! 
Again  I  longed  for  that  sweet  time 

When   friend   shall   meet   with   friend, 
"Where    congregations   ne'er   break   up, 

And  Sabbaths  have  no  end." 

I  hope  to  meet  that  minister — 

That   congregation,  too — 
In  that  dear  home  beyond  the  stars 

That  shine  from  heaven's  blue; 
I  doubt  not  I'll  remember, 

Beyond  life's  evening  gray. 
That  happy  hour  of  worship 

In  the  model  church,  today. 


I  tell  you,  wife,  it  did  me  good 

To  sing  that  hymn  once  more 
I  felt  like  some  wrecked  mariner 

Who  gets  a  glimpse  of  shore, 
I  almost  want  to  lay  aside 
This  weather-beaten  form, 
And  anchor  in  the  blessed  port 
Forever  from  the  storm! 


Dear  wife,  the  toil  will  soon  be  o'er, 

The  vict'ry  soon  be  won; 
The  shining  land  is  just  ahead, 

Our  race  is  almost  run. 
We're  nearing  Canaan's  happy  shore,^ 

Our  home  so  bright  and  fair, 
Thank  God,  we'll  never  sin  again, 

"There'll   be   no   sorrow   there!" 


6. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


ANNABEL  LEE. 

It  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  lived  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee: 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other 
thought 

Than  to  love,  and  be  loved  by  me. 

I  was  a  child  and  she  was  a  child. 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more 
than   love, 
I  and   Annabel   Lee — 
"With   a  love   that   the   winged  seraphs   of 
heaven 
Coveted  her  and  me. 

-And  this  was  the  reason  that  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  cloud-land,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsman  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me. 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre, 

In  the  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  so  happy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me, 
Yes!    that    was    the    reason    (as    all    men 
know) 
In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea; 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by 
night, 
Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than 
the  love 

Of  those  who  were  older  than  we; 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we; 
And  neither  the   angels  in  heaven   above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  ever  dissever  my  soul  from   the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 


For  the  moon  never  beams  without  bring- 
ing  me    dreams 
Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee, 
And   the   stars   never   rise   but   I   feel   the 
bright  eyes 
Of   the  beautiful   Annabel   Lee 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by 

the  side 
Of  mj  daring,  my  life,  and  my  bride 
In  her  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea, 
In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 

— EDGAE  ALLAN  POE. 


IN  THE  BAGGAGE  COACH  AHEAD. 

On  a  dark  stormy  night,  as  the  train  rat- 
tled on, 
All  the  passengers  had  gone  to  bed, 
Except  one  young  man  with  a  babe  on  his 
arm. 
Who  sat  there  with  a  bowed-down  head. 
The   innocent   one   commenced   crying   just 
then. 
As  though  its  poor  heart  would  break. 
One    angry   man    said,    ''Make    that    child 
stop  its  noise. 
For  you're  keeping  all  of  us  awake." 

"Put  it  out,"  said  another;  ''don't  keep 
it  in  here, 
"We've  paid  for  our  berths  and  want 
rest." 
But  never  a  word  said  the  man  with  the 
child, 
As  he  fondled  it  close  to  his  breast. 

"Where    is    its    mother?      Go,    take    it    to 
her—" 
This  a  lady  then  softly  said, 
"I  wish  that  I  could,"  was  the  man's  sad 
reply, 
"But  she's  dead  in  the  coach  ahead." 
Every  eye  filled  with  tears  when  his  story- 
he  told, 
Of  a  wife  who  was  faithful  and  true, 
He  told   how  he'd  saved  up  his  earnings 
for  years 
Just  to  build  up  a  home  for  two. 


/ 


''  Gleanings  from    the  Gullies. 


7. 


How,    when    Heaven    had    sent    them    this 
sweet   little   babe, 
Their  youag  happy  'lives  were  blessed. 
Iji  tears  he  broke  down  when  he  mention- 
ed  her   name, 
Aad  in  teai's  tried  to  tell  them  the  rest. 

Every    woman    arose    to    assist    with    the 
child; 
There  were  mothers   and  wives   on  that 
train,  ^ 

And  soon   w^s   the   little    one   sleeping   in 
peace, 
With  no  thoughts  of  sorrow  and  pain. 

Next  morn '  at  a  station  he  bade  all  good- 
bye. 

'*God  bless  you,"  he  softly  said. 
Each  one  had  a  story  to  tell  in  their  home. 

Of  the  baggage  coach  ahead. 

While  the  train  rolled  onward  a  husband 
sat  in  tears, 

Thinking  of  the  happiness  of  just  a  few 
short  years, 

For  baby's  face  brings  pictures  of  a  cher- 
ished hope  that's  dead; 

Hut  baby's  cries  can't  wake  her  in  the 
baggage  coach  ahead. 


A  LITTLE  PILGRIM. 

Or,  Jesus  Paid  the  Fare. 
This  anecdote,  in  rhyme,  has  a  history, 
the  half  of  which  I  cannot  tell.  It  was 
picked  up  by  an  old  man  in  my  district, 
much  worn;  he  read,  it  and  with  God's 
blessing  it  did  him  real  good.  He  read  it 
to  a  dying  woman,  and  through  it  she  was 
led  to  the  Savior  It  came  into  my  hands, 
and  I  had  it  printed,  and  142,000  copies 
have  already  been  circulated.  Many  pleas- 
ant letters  have  been  sent  me,  telling  glad 
tidings  of  its  usefulness.  ^'Not  by  might, 
nor  by  power,  but  by  .my  Spirit,  saith  the 
liord  of  Hosts." 

X  EENNIE. 


One   summer's   evening,   ere   the   sun   went 

down. 
When   city   men   were   hastening  from   the 

town, 
To  reach  their  Vionies — some  near  at  hand, 

some   far — 
By  snorting  train,  by  omnibus  or  ear, 
To  be  beyond  the  reach  of  city's  din — 
A  tram-car  stopped,  a  little  girl  got  in: 
A    cheery   looking   girl,   scarce    four   years 

old; 
Although   not   shy,   her   manners   were   not 

bold; 
But  all  alone!  one  scarce  could  understand. 
She  held  a  little  bundle  in  her  hand — 
A  tiny  handkerchief  with  corners  tied, 
But  which  did  not  some  bread  and  butter 

hide ; 
A  satin  scarf,  so  natty  and  so  neat. 
Was  o'er  her  shoulders  thrown.     She  took 

her  seat, 
And  laid  her  bundle  underneath  her  arm. 
And  smiling  prettily,  but  yet  so  calm, 
She  to  the  porter  said,  ''May  I  lie  here?" 
He  answered  instantly,  ''O,  yes,  my  dear." 
And  there  she  seemed  inclined  to  make  her 

stay,  .-    . 

While    once    again   the    tram   went    on   its 

way. 
The  tall  conductor — over  six  feet  high, 
Now  scanned  the  travelers  with  a  business 

eye; 
But  in  that  eye  was  something  kind  and 

mild. 
That  took  the  notice  of  the  little  child. 
A  little  after,  and  the  man  went  round, 
And  soon  was  heard  the  old  familiar  sotind 
Of   gathering   pence,   and    clipping   tickets 

too — 
The  tram  was  full  and  he  had  much  to  do, 
''Your    fare,    my    little    girl,"    at    length 

he  said. 
She    looked    a    moment,    shook    her    little 
^  head— 

"My  fare  is  paid,  and  Jesus  paid  for  me?^' 


8. 


a 


Picked  up  Here  and  There. ^' 


He     looked     bewildered — all     the     people 
smiled: 

^'1  didn't  know;  and  who  is  Jesus,  child?" 
''Why,  don't  you  know  He  once  for  sin- 
ners died, 
For    little    children,    and    for    men    beside, 
To  make  us  good,  and  wash  us  from  our 

sin: 
Is  this  His  railway  I   am  traveling  in?" 
"Don't   think   it    is!      I   want    your   fare, 

you  know. ' ' 
"I  told  you  Jesus  paid  it  long  ago: 
My  mother  told  me  just  before  she  died, 
That  Jesus   paid   when   He   was   crucified; 
That  at  the  cross  His  railway  did  begin, 
Which  took  poor  sinners  from  a  world  of 

sin. 
My  mother  said  His  home  was  grand  and 

fair, 
I  want  to  go  and  see  my  mother  there — 
I  want  to  go  to  heaven,  where  Jesus  lives. 
Won't   you   go   too?      My   mother   said   he 
gives 

A  loving  welcome — -shall  we  not  be  late? 

0  let  us  go  before  He  shuts  the  gate; 
He  bids  us  little  children  come  to  Him." 
The  poor  conductor's  eyes  felt  rather  dim. 
He  knew  not  why — he  fumbled  at  his  coat. 
And  felt  a  substance  rising  in  his  throat. 
The  people  listened  to  the  little  child, 
Some    were    in    tears — the    roughest    only 

smiled. 
And   some    one   whispered   as   they   looked 

amazed: 
"Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  the  Lord  is 

praised." 
"I   am   a  pilgrim,"  said  the  little   thing; 
"I'm  going  to  heaven.     My  mother  used 

to  sing 
To  me  of  Jesus  and  His  Father's  love; 
Told  me  to  meet  her  in  His  home  above. 
And  so  today  when  aunt  went  out  to  tea. 
And   looking   out   I   could   not   father   see, 

1  got  my  bundle — kissed  my  litle  kit,  % 
(I  am  so  hungry — wont  you  have  a  bit?") 


And  got  my  hat,  and  then  I  left  my  borne,. 
A  little  pilgrim  up  to  heaven  to  roam; 
And    then    your    carriage    stopped,    and    T 
could  see 

You  looked  so  kind.  I  saw  you  beckon  me,. 
I  thought  you  must  belong  to  Jesus'  train. 
And   are   you   just   going   home  to  heiven 

again  ?  " 
The  poor  conductor  only  shook  Ms  head; 
Tears  in  his  eyes — the  power  of  speech  had 

fled. 
Had   conscience  by  her  prattle  roused  his- 

fears, 
And  struck  upon  the  fountain  of  his  tears; 
And   made   his   thoughts   in   sad  confusion 

whirl; 
At   last   he   said,   "Once  I''d  a  little  girl,. 
I  loved  her  much;   she  was  my  little  pet. 
And  with  great  fondness  I  remember  yet 
How  much  she  loved  me.    But  one  day  she 

died." 
"She's  gone  to  heaven,"  the  little  girl  re- 
plied; 
"She's    gone    to    Jeusus — Jesus    paid    her 

fare. 
Oh,   dear    conductor,  won 't   you   meet  her 

there?" 
The  poor  conductor  now  broke  fairly  down; 
He  could  have  borne  the  hardest  look  or 

frown. 
But  no  one  laughed;  but  many  sitting  hy 
Beheld  the  scene  with  sympathetic  eye. 
He  kissed  the  child,  for  she  his  heart  had 

won. 
"I  am  so  sleepy,"  said  the  little  one, 
"If  you  will  let  me,  I'll  lie  here  and  wait 
Until  your  carriage  comes  to  Jesus'  gate; 
Be    sure    you    wake    me    up,    and   pull   my- 

frock, 
And  at  the  gate  give  just  one  little  knockl 
And  you'll  see  Jesus  there!"     The  strong 

man  wept 
I  could  but  think  as  from  the  car  I  stept. 
How  oft  a  little  one  has  found  the  road. 
The  narrow,  pathway  to  that,  blest  abode; 


(C 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies 


f> 


Through  faith  in  Christ  has  read  its  title 

clear, 
While  learned  men  remain  in   doubt   and 

fear. 
A  little  child  the  Lord  oft  uses  such 
To   break   or  bend,   the   stoutest   heart   to 

touch, 
Then  by  His  Spirit  bids  the  conflict  cease, 
And  once  forever  enter  into  peace. 
And  then  along  the  road  the  news  we  bear, 
We're   going   to   heaven — that   Jesus   paid 

our  fare! 

—DICKIE  HYMBE. 


Telling  the  tired  heart  the  song 
It  sang  in  years  gone  by. 

Beautiful  hands  are   always  found 
Where  the  heaviest  duties  lie. 


BEAUTIFUL  HANDS. 

Beautiful  hands  are  not  always  white, 

Shapely  and  fair  to  see; 
But  are  often  cast  in  an  humble  mold. 

And  are  brown  as  brown  can  be. 

Useful  hands  that  are  ready  to  take 

Life's  duties  one  by  one; 
Hands  that  are  willing  to  reap  and  glean 

Till  the  reaper's  work  is  done. 

Lifting  the  burdens  we  find  so  hard 
To  bear  through  life's  long  day; 

Brushing  the   dead  leaves   sorrow   drops 
From  out  the  tangled  way. 

Gentle  hands,  between  whose  palms 

The  weary  face  may  lie; 
Beautiful  hands,  that  softly  tell 

For  sorrow  ''the  reason  why." 

Hands  whose  touch  remains  for  years; 

Dear   hands   though  folded  low, 
Whose    magic   thrill   within   our   souls 

Whispers  ''We  loved  you  so." 


CHRIST'S  LILIES. 

(By  Margaret  Floyd.) 
"Hush   my,  babe,  lie  still   and  slumber 

Sang  a  mother  sweet  and  low, 
As  she  gently  rocked  the   cradle. 

In  the  twilight,  to  and  fro. 

'MIoiy  angels  guard  the  sleeping, 

Keep   my   childro.i   from   harm   and  sin, 

As  he  grows  to  manhood's  stature. 
Fair  without  and  pure  within." 

So  we  mothers  fain  would  keep  them, 
Knowing  not  that  which  is  best, 

Only  try  to   do   our   duty 
And  trust  Jesus  for  the  rest. 

In  his  garden  walks  the  Master 

In  the  tender  evening  light. 
Sees  the  violets  and  the   roses 

And  the  lilies,  tall  and  white. 

Pauses  long  beside  the  lilies. 
Snowy  flowers  he  loves  the  best. 
Then   he  gathers  for  his  bosom 
One  more  fair  than  all  the  rest. 

So  he  sees  our  little  children, 
Pure    and   fair   as  lilies   white. 

And  he  takes  them  to  his  bosom, 
They  are  "precious  in  his  sight." 


Warm,  human  hands  that  once  we  held 

So   close  within  our  own; 
Though  clasped,  so  cold,  their  silent  clay 

Still  speaks  in  love's  low  tone.         * 


Let  us  cease  our  bitter  weeping 
For  the  babies  gone   away. 

We  shall  find  them  in  his  keeping 
In  the  land  of  "cloudless  day." 


10. 


(< 


Picked  lip  Here  and  There." 


THE  DRUNKARD'S  SOLILOQUY. 

Backward,  turn  backward,  O  time,  in  your 

flight, 
And    make    me    a    man    again,    .iust    for 

tonight ; 
Let   me   shake   off  these   vile   rags   that   I 

wear. 
Cleanse  me  from   all  this  foul  stain  that 

I  bear; 
Oh  let  me  stand  where  I  stood  long  ago. 
Freed  from  these  sorrows,  unknown  to  this 

woe; 
Freed  from  a  life  that  is  cursing  my  soul, 
Unto    death   while    the    years    of    eternity 

roll. 


Yet    the    tide    rushes    on,    this    wild    flight 

of  the  years. 
And  the  days  only  deepen  my  sorrows  and 

fears, 
I   call,  but   no   answer  comes  back  to   me 

now. 
Naught  but  an  echo  as  weak  as  my  vow. 
For    'neath   the   sad   cypress  tree,   now   in 

the  sod. 
Lies  the  body  whose   soul  has  gone  back 

to  its  God, 
And    out    of    the    silence    no    child    voices 

come, 
As  in  days  long  ago  in  my  sweet,  happy 

home. 


Backward,  turn  backward,  oh  fast-flowing 

stream, 
Would   that    my   life    could   prove    only   a 

dream! 
Let  me  forget  the  black  sins  of  the  past; 
Let  me  undo  all  my  folly  so  vast; 
Let  me  live  over  the  life  that  is  gone; 
Bring  back   the   dark,  wasted  years   that 

are    flown ; 
Backward,  turn  backward,  O  time,  in  your 

flight. 
And    make    me    a    man    again,    just    for 

tonight. 

Back,   Yes,  turn  backward,  ye   swift-roll- 
ing years! 
Why  does  your  memory  bring  forth  these 

hot  tears? 
Why  comes  this  vision  of  life  lost  in  sin? 
Why  am  I  thinking  of  what  might  have 

been? 
Where    is    my   home,    once    so    happy    and 

bright? 
Where   is   that   face   whose   own   presence 

was  light? 
Where    are   the    children   who    climbed    on 

my   knee? 
Back,  flowing  tide!  bring  them  once  more 

to  me! 


Backward?      Nay,    Time    ri(,shes    onward 

and  on; 
'Tis    the    dream   that    comes   back    of   the 

days  that   are   gone, 
I  yielded  my  strength  when  I  could  have 

been  strong; 
I  would  fly,  but  alas!   I  had  lingered  too 

long. 
The    hell    hound   had    seized   me — my   will 

was  not  mine. 
Destruction  was  born  in  the  sparkling  of 

wine! 
So,   in    weakness,   I   totter   through   gloom 

to  the  grave, 
A    sovereign    in    birth,    but    in    dying — a 

slave! 

— Texas  Advocate. 


A  HOODOO  COIN. 

For  those  who  believe  in  the  fatality 
of  the  number  13  the  American  qiilarter  doL 
lar  is  about  the  most  unlucky  article  they 
can  carry.  On  the  said  coin  there  are  13 
stars,  13  letters  in  the  scroll  which  the 
eagle  holds  in  its  claws,  13  feathers  are 
in  its  tail,  there  are  13  parallel  lines  on 
the  shield,  13  horizontal  stripes,  13  arrow- 
heads and  13  letters  in  the  words  ''quar- 
ter dollar." 


(( 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies y 


11. 


WHAT  A  BOY  COULD  DO. 

He  was  small  for  his  age  worked  in  a 
signal  box  and  booked  the  trains.  One 
day  the  men  were  chafing  him  about  being 
so  small.  One  of  them  said:  "You  will 
never  amount  to  much.  You  will  never 
be  able  to  pull  these  levers;  you  are  too 
small. ' ' 

The   little   fellow   looked   at  them. 

'^Well, "  he  said,  '*I  can  do  something 
that  none  of  you  can  do." 

"Ah,  What  is  that?"  they  all  cried. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

They  were  all  anxious  to  know,  and 
urged  him  to  tell  them  what  he  could  do 
that  none  of  them  were  able  to  do.  Said 
one  of  the  men:   "What  is  it,  boy?" 

'  '■  I  can  keep  from  swearing  and  drink- 
ing,"  replied  the  little   fellow. 

There  were  blushes  on  the  men's  faces, 
and  they  didn't  seem  anxious  for  any 
further  information   on  the  subject. 


JUST  AS  THE  SUN  WENT  DOWN. 

Words  and  Music  by  Lyn  Udall. 
After  the   din  of  the  battle  roar,  just   at 

the  closing  of  day, 
Wounded  and  bleeding  upon  the  field,  two 

dying  soldiers  lay;  ^ 

One  held  a  ringlet  of  thin  gray  hair,  one 

held  a  lock  of  brown, 
Bidding   each    other    a   last    farewell,   just 

as  the  sun  went  down. 

Chorus — 

One    thought    of    mother,    at    home    alone, 

feeble   and  old  and  grey; 
One    of   the    sweetheart,   he   left   in   town, 

happy  and  young  and  gay. 
One  kissed  a  ringlet  of  thin  grey  hair,  one 

kissed  a  lock  of  brown. 
Bidding  farewell  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 

just  as  the  sun  went  down. 


One  knew  the  joy  of  a  mothers  love,   one 

of  a  sweetheart  fair, 
Thinking  of  home,  they  lay  side  by  side, 

breathing  a  farewell  pray'r; 
One  for  his   mother  so   old  and  grey,  one 

for  his  love  in  town; 
They   closed   their   eyes   to   the    earth   and 

skies,  just  as  the  sun  went  down. 

(Chorus) 


WHERE  IS  MY  BOY  TONIGHT? 

Where  is  my  wand 'ring  boy  tonight — 
The  boy  of  my  tenderest  care. 

The  boy  that  was  once  my  joy  and  light, 
The  child  of  my  love  and  prayer? 

Chorus — 

O  where  is  my  boy  tonight? 

O  where  is  my  boy  tonight?  '^ 

My  heart   o'er   flows,  for  I  love   him,   he 

knows; 
O  where  is  my  boy  tonight? 

Once  he  was  pure  as  morning  dew, 
As  he  knelt  at  his  mother's  knee; 

No  face  was  so  bright,  no  heart  more  true, 
And  none  was  so  sweet  as  he. 

O  could  I  see  you  now,  my  boy, 

As  fair  as  in  olden  time. 
When  pratl:le  and  smile  made  home  a  joy. 

And  life  was  a  merry  chime! 

Go  for  my  wand 'ring  boy  tonight; 

Go,  search  for  him  where  you  will; 
But  bring  him  to   me  with   all  his  blight. 

And  tell  him  I  love  him  still. 


THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree 
The   village   smithy   stands; 

The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 
With  large   and   sinewy  hands; 

And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 


12. 


a 


Picked  up  Here  and  There/' 


His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black  and  long; 

His  face  is  like  the  tan; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat — 

He   earns  whatever  he   can, 
He  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

\Veek  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night. 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge. 
With    measured   beat    and   slow. 

Like   a    sexton   ringing  the   village   bell, 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge. 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar. 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing  floor 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 

And   sits   among  his  boys;; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughters  voice. 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  him  like  her  mothers  voice. 

Singing  in  Paradise! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more. 

How  in  the  grave   she  lies; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough   hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing. 

Onward  through  life  he  goes; 
Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 

Each  evening  sees  it  close; 
Something  attempted,  something  done. 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend. 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught! 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought; 

Thus   on   its,  sounding   anvil   shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and   thought! 

— ^Henry   Wadsworth    Longfellow. 


PLEA  FOR  FACTORY  PEOPLE. 
I. 

Folks  think  we  factory  people 

Are  an  unimportant  set; 
And  the  reason  we  are  made  thus 

We  have  not  found  out  yet. 

II. 

But  after  we  went  to  work  in  factories, 

And  bosses  we  had  to  obey. 
We  worked  both  late  and  early, 

Drawing   very    little    pay. 

III. 

Well  w^e   confess,  we're  unimportant 

In   one   sense   of  the  word, 
For  to  the  trump  of  earthly  fame 

Our  names  are  never  heard. 

IV. 

There  are  people  in  the  factories 
That  are  noble,  true  and  kind, 

And  underneath  their  oil  clothes 
Beats  a  heart  with  loving  mind. 

)i 

That  will  divide  with  those  in  need 

If  we  only  have  one  dime, 
We  trust  the  Lord  will  give  it  back 

To  us  some  other  time. 

VI. 

We  claim  no  treasures  here  on  earth,  y 

In  silver,  gold,  or  rank, 
We  had  rather  give  to  the   cause   of  God 

Than  to  deposit  in  a  bank. 

VII. 

And  thus  it  is  while  at  our  work. 
When  we  card,  or  spin,  or  weave. 

We  try  to  be   contented, 

For  we  have  no  time  to  grieve. 

VIII. 

While  the  roar  of  the  lapper  and  slubber, 
And  speed  and  clash  of  the  loom. 

Puts  sorrow,  care,  and  pain  to  flight, 
And  dispels  a  cloud  of  gloom. 


ti 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies. 


f> 


13. 


IX. 

Yes,  we   all   forget    our   troubles, 

And  our  trials  here  below, 
As  we  listen  to  our  shuttles 

While   they   rattle   to   and   fro. 
X. 
Yes,  we  watch  the  busy  shuttle. 

As  back  and  forth  it  speeds. 
And  with  pleasure  watch  the  cut  mark, 

While  coming  through  the  reeds. 
XI. 
Oh,  if  I  was   a   millionaire. 

Or  financially   so   stout. 
Or  could  own  the  whole  creation, 

And  ride  in  a  fine  turnout; 
XII. 
I  could  not  then  rest  satisfied, 

Unless   I  had   to   go, 
And  start  my  work  to  running 

At  the  second  whistle  blow. 
XIII. 
Then  say  you  don't  like  factory  folks. 

That's  sinful  brother,  I  declare; 
If  you  should  reach  that  heavan  above 

You  will  meet  factory  people  there. 
XIV. 
If  we  should  meet  each  other. 

Where  the  crystal  water  flows. 
We  will  have  no  oil  on  our  hands 

Nor  lint   cotton   on   our   clothes. 

— G.    D.    STUTTS. 


ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  WABASH. 

Bound  my  Indiana  homestead  waved   the 
cornfield. 
In  a  gloomy  distant  woodland,  clear  and 
cool, 
Oftentimes   my   thoughts   revert   to    scenes 
of    childhood 
Where   I   first    received   my   lessons   na- 
ture's school. 
But  one  thing  there  is  missing  in  the  pic- 
ture. 
Without  her  face  it  seems  so  incomplete; 
I  long  to  see  my  mother  in  tho   doorway 


As   she   stood   there   years   ago^   her   boy 
to  greet. 

C  horus — 

Oh,    the    moonlight's    there    tonight    along 
the  Wabash, 
From  the  fields  there  comes  a  breath  of 
new-mown  hay, 
Tlirough    the    sycamores    the    candlelights 
are  gleaming 
On  the  banks  of  the  Wabash  far  away. 

Alany  years   have   passed   since   I   strolled 
by   the   river. 
Arm   in   arm  with   sweetheart    Mary  by 
my  side. 
It   was    there   I   tried   to    tell    her    that    I 
loved   her, 
It  was  there  I  asked  of  her  to   be   my 
bride. 
Many  years   have   passed   since   I   strolled 
through  the   church-yard, 
She    is    sleeping   there,  •  my    angel    Mary 
dear, 
I    loved    her    but    she    thought    I    did    not 

mean   it ; 
'  I'd  give  my  future  life  if  she  was  only 
here.  Chorus. — 


A  RAILROAD  MAN'S  PRAYER. 

Not  long  since  an  old  railroad  man  who 
drifted  in  church  where  a  revival  service 
was  going  on  was  asked  to  lead  in  prayer. 
He  said: 

Oh!  Lord,  now  that  I  have  flagged  Thee, 
lift  up  my  feet  off  the  rough  road  and 
plant  them  safely  on  the  platform  of  the 
train  of  salvation;  let  me  use  the  safety 
lamp  known  as  prudence,  make  all  the 
couplings  on  the  train  with  the  strong  link 
of  Thy  love,  and  let  my  hand-lamp  be  the 
Pdble,  and  Heavenly  Father,  keep  all  the 
switches  that  lead  off  on  sidings,  especially 
those  with   a  blind  end.     Oh!   Lrord,  if  it 


14. 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


be  Thy  pleasure  have  every  semaphore 
light  along  the  line  show  the  white  light 
of  hope,  that  I  may  make  the  run  of  life 
without  stopping,  and  Lord  give  us  the 
Ten  Commandments  for  a  schedule  and 
when  I  have  finished  the  run  on  schedule 
time,  pulled  into  the  great  dark  station  of 
death,  may  Thou  the  Superintendent  of 
the  Universe,  say  well  done,  thou  good  and 
faithful  servant,  come  and  sign  the  pay- 
roll and  receive  a  check  for  eternal  hap- 
piness.    Amen. 


TRUTH. 

Children,  choose  it,  don 't  refuse  it, 

'Tis  a  precious  diadem; 
Highly   prize   it,   never   despise   it, 

For  you  will  need  it  when  you  are  men. 

Watch  and  guard  it,  do  not  discard  it, 
'Tis  more  precious  far  than  gold, 

Love  and  cherish,  keep  and  nourish, 
For  you  will  need  it  when  you  are  old. 

Then  endeavor,  now  and  ever, 
Keep  this  blessed  treasure  nigh 

Always  own  it,  never  leave  it, 

For  you  will  need  it  when  you  die. 


GREAT   LAKE   RAILROAD. 

Passengers    Time   Table. 

Lv.  Disobedient  Ave 7:00  a.  m. 

Lv.    Cigaretteville    7:30   a.    m. 

Lv.  Secret  Sin   Tunnel    8:00   a.  m. 

Lv.  Liars'  Cross  Eoads   8:05  a.  m. 

Lv.  Pop  (Watering  tank)    8:35  a.  m. 

Lv.   Cider   Village    9:00   a.   m. 

Lv.    Saloonville    9:45    a.    m. 

Lv.  Tippleton   10:00  a.  m. 

Lv.  Theater  Heights 10:30  a.  m. 

Lv.   Gambler's  Inn    11:00   a.   m, 

Lv.  Thief  (Flag  station)    11:40  a.  m. 

Lv  Drunkards'  Tavern 12:00  m. 

One  hour  for  dinner  and  sight-seeing. 
Lv.  Drunkards'  Tavern   1:00  p.  m. 


Lv.  Blasphemers'  Furnace    ....1:45  p.  m. 

Lv.  Quarrel  Town    2:40  p.  m. 

Lv.  Murderers'  Valley   3:30  p.  m. 

Lv.  Jail  City  Landing   4:00  p.  m. 

Lv   Courthouse   Crossing    5:10   p.   m. 

30   minutes   to   make   up   special   train 
to  Hangaman's  Gap. 

Lv.  Poverty  Lane    6:00  p.   m. 

Lv.   Mortgageville    7:00  p.   m. 

Lv.  Suicide  Junction   8:15  p.  m. 

Lv.    Big   Spreetown    _..9:45   p.    m. 

Lv.   Delirium   Eapids    11:00   p.   m. 

Ar.    at    Great    Lake,    or    Perdition    (outer 
darkness)    at    midnight. 

''The  fearful,  and  unbelieving,  and  the 
abominable,  and  murderers,  and  whore- 
mongers, and  sorcerers,  and  idolaters  and 
all  liars,  SHALL  HAVE  THEIR  PART  IN 
THE  LAKE,  which  burneth  with  fire  and 
brimstone;  which  is  the  second  death." 

Some  become  weary  and  fatigued  in 
seeing  such  unexpected  scenery,  and  decide 
to  take  the  Lightning  Express  at  Suicide 
Junction,  after  which  there  are  no  more 
&tops  until  they  reach  the  Fearful  Lake. 

There  are  no  return  tickets  on  this  line 
as  all  trains  run  in  one  direction. 

This  line  is  well  equipped  with  sleepers 
for  the  accommodation  of  proud,  formal 
church  members. 

It  is  an  old  established  line,  very  often 
called  ''The   Popular  Route." 

Sacred  writ  recognizes  it  as  the  "Broad 
Way, ' '  and  ' '  many  there  be  ' '  i^ass  over  it. 
It  also  mentions  it  as  a  "Way  that  seem- 
eth  right  unto  a  man,  but  the  end  thereof 
are  the  ways  of  death." 


Thirty  days  has  September, 

April,  June  and  November; 

All  the  rest  have  thirty.one, 

Except  February  alone, 

Which  has  but  twenty-eight  in  fine, 

Till  leap  year  gives  it  twenty-nine. 


'^Gleanings  from  the  Gullies/' 


15. 


ORIGINAL  DIXIE. 

Southerners,   hear   your   country   call   you? 
Up!  lest  worse  than  death  befall  you! 
To  arms!   to  arms!  to  arms!   in  Dixie! 
Lo!  all  the  beacon-fires  are  lighted, 
Let  all  hearts  be  now  united! 
To  arms!   to  arms!   to  arms!  in  Dixie! 
Advance  the  flag  to  Dixie! 
Hurrah!    hurrah! 

For  Dixie's  land  we'll  take  our  stand, 

To  live  or  die  for  Dixie! 

To    arms!    to    arms! 
And  conquer  peace  for  Dixie! 

Hear  the  Northern  thunders  mutter! 
Northern  flags  in  South  winds  flutter! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Send  them  back  your  fierce   defiance! 
Stamp  upon  the  accursed  alliance! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie!  etc. 

Fear  no  danger!  shun  no  labor! 
Lift  up  rifle,  pike,  and  sabre! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Shoulder  pressing  close  to  shoulder, 
Let  the  odds-  make  each  heart  bolder! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie!  etc. 

How  the  South 's  great  heart  rejoices 
At  your  cannons  ringing  voices; 

To  arms!   etc. 
For  faith  betrayed  and  pledges  broken, 

To  arms!   etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie!  etc. 

Strong  as   lions,   swift   as   eagles, 

Back  to  their  kennels  hunt  these  beagles! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Cut  the  unequal  bonds  asunder! 
Let  them  hence  each  other  plunder! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie!  etc. 


Swear  upon  your  country's  altar, 
Never  to  submit  or  falter; 

To  arms!   etc. 
Till  the  spoilers  are  defeated, 
Till  the  Lord's  work  is  completed, 

To  arms!   etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie!  etc. 

Halt  not  till  our  Federation 

Secures  among  earth's  powers  its  station! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Then  at  peace,  and  crowned  with  glory, 
Hear  your  children  tell  the  story! 

To  arms!   etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie!  etc. 

If  the  loved  ones  weep  in  sadness, 
Victory  soon  shall  bring  them  gladness; 

To  arms!   etc. 
Exultant  pride  soon"  banish  sorrow; 
Smiles  chase  tears  away  tomorrow. 

To  arms!   etc. 
Advance  the  flag  of  Dixie!  etc. 


OLD  COTTAGE  HOME. 

Im    thinking    tonight    of    my    old    cottage 
home 
That  stands   on  the  brow  of  the  hill. 
Where    in    life 's    early    morning    I    once 
loved  to  roam, 
But   now   all  is   quiet  and  still. 

Chorus — 

Oh,  my  old  cottage  home. 

That  stands  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
Where  in  life's  early  morning  I  once  lov- 
ed   to    roam, 

But  now  all  is  quiet  and  still. 

Many  years  have  gone  by  since  in  prayer 
there  I  knelt. 
With  dear  ones  around  the  old  heart. 
But    my    mother's    sweet    prayers    in    my 
heart  are  still  felt, 
r  treasure  them  up  wliile  on  earth., 


16. 


a 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


One  by  one  they  have  gone  from  my  old 
cottage  home, 
On  earth  I  shall  see  them  no  more, 
But  I  hope  we  shall  meet  round  the  beau- 
tiful throne 
Where  parting  will  come  never  more. 


ST.  PETER  AT  THE  GATE. 

OR 

**The  Last  Shall  Be  First;  and  the  First 

ShaU  Be  Last." 

St.  Peter^  stood  guard  at  the  golden  gate. 
With  a  solemn  mien  and  an  air  sedate, 
When  up  to  the  top  of  the  golden  stair 
A  man  and  a  woman,  ascending  there. 
Applied    for    admission.      They    came    and 

stood 
Before  St.   Peter   so   great   and  good, 
In  hopes  the  city  of  peace  to  win, 
To  ask  St.  Peter  to  let  them  in. 


^'I've  tDld  the  sinners  about  the  day 

When  they'd  repent  of  their  evil  way; 

I've  told  my  neighbors,  IVe  told   'em  all, 

'Bout  Adam  and  the  primal  fall; 

I've  shown  them  what  they  had  to  do 

If  they'd  pass  in  with  the  chosen  few; 

I've  marked  their  path  of  duty  clear. 
Laid  out  the  plan  for  their  whole  career. 

''I've  talked  and  talked  to   'em  loud  and 
long. 

For  my  lungs   are   good   and  my   voice   is 
strong, 

So,  Good  St.   Peter,  you'll  plainly  see 
The  gate  of  heaven  is  open  to  me. 
But  my  old  man,  I  regret  to  say. 
Hasn't  walked  straight  in  the  narrow  way; 
He   smokes   and\  swears,  and  grave   faults 

he's  got. 
And  I  don't   know  whether   he'll   pass  or 

not 


The  woman  was  tall  and  lank  and  thin, 
With  a  stragly  beardlet   on  her   chin, 
The  man  was  short,  and  thick  and  stout. 
His  stomach  was  built  so  it  rounded  out. 
His  face  was  pleasant  and  all  the  while. 
He  wore  a  kindly  and  gentle  smile, 
The  choirs  in  the  distance  the  echoes  awoke 
^nd  the  man  kept  still  while  the  woman 
spoke. 


"He    never   would   pray   with    an    earnest 
vim. 

Or  go  to  a  revival  or  join  in  a  hymn; 

So  I  had  to  leave  him  in  sorrow  there. 
While  I  with  the  chosen  united  in  prayer. 
He  ate  what  the  pantry  chose  to  afford. 
Sure,  it  was  not  piled  up  on  the  board. 
And  if  cucumbers  were  all  he  got. 
It's  a  chance  if  he  merited  them  or  not. 


''^Oh,  thou  who  guardest  the  gates,"  said 

she, 
'*We  come  hither  beseeching  thee 
To  let  us  enter  the  heavenly  land. 
And  play  our  harps  with  the  angel  band, 
Of  me  St.  Peter  there  is  no  doubt. 
There  is  nothing  from  heaven  to  bar  me 

out, 
I've  been  to  meeting  three  times  a  week, 
And  almost  always  I'd  rise  and  speak. 


''But,  oh,  St.  Peter,  I  love  him  so, 

To  the  pleasure  of  heaven,  please  let  him 

go, 
I've  done  enough — a  saint  I've  been. 
Won't  that  atone?     Can't  you  let  him  in? 
By  my  grim  gospel  I  know  it  is  so 
That  the  unrepentant  must  fry  below, 
But  isn't  there  some  way  you  can  see, 
That  he  may  enter  who  is  dear  to  me? 


'^Gleanings  from  the  Gullies. 


17. 


"It  is  a  narrow  gospel  which  I  pray, 
But  the  chosen  expect  to  find  some  way 
Of  coaxing,  or  fooling,  or  bribing  you 
So  that  their  relations  can  amble  through, 
And  say,  St.  Peter,  it  seems  to  me 
This  gate  is  not  kept  as  it  ought  to  be; 
You  ought  to  stand  right  by  the  opening 

there 
-And  never  sit  down  in  that  easy  chair. 

**And  say,  St,  Peter,  my  sight  is  dimmed, 
But   I   don't   like   the  way  your  whiskers 

are  trimmed; 
They  are  out  too  wide,  and  outward  toss, 
They'd   look   better    narrow — out    sti-aight 

across; 
Well,  we  must  be  going  our  crowns  to  win. 
So  open  St.  Peter,  and  we'll  pass  in." 

So  St.  Peter  sat  and  stroked  his  staff, 
But  spite  of  his  office  he  had  to  laugh, 
Then  he  said  with  a  fiery  gleam  in  his  eye: 
*^ Who's  tending  this  gate — you  or  I?" 
And  then  he  arose  in  his  stature  tall 
And  pressed  a  button  upon  the  wall. 
And  said  to  the  imp  who  answered  the  bell, 
"Escort  this  lady  around  to  hell.' 

The  man  stood  still  as  a  piece  of  stone — 
Stood  s^dly,  gloomily  there  alone, 
A  life-long  settled  idea  he  had 
That  his  wife  was  good  and  he  was  bad. 
He  thought  if  the  woman  went  down  be- 
low, V 
That  he  would  certainly  have  to   go; 
That  if  she  went  to  the  regions  dim, 
There  wasn't  a  ghost  of  a  show  for  him. 
Slowly   he   turned  by   habit   bent, 
To  follow  wherever  the  woman  went, 
St.  Peter  standing  on  duty  there. 
Observed    that    the    top    of    his    head    was 

bare. 
He  called  the  gentleman  and  said: 
"Friend,  how  long  have  you  been  wed?" 
"Thirty  years!"   (with  a  heavy  sigh.) 
And  then  he  thoughtfully  added,  "Why?' 


St.  Peter  was  silent  with  head  bent  down 
He    raised    his    head    and    scratched    his 

crown. 
Then  seemed  *a  different  thought  to  take, 
Slowly  half  to  himself  he  spake: 
"Thirty    years    with    that    woman    there; 
No   wonder   that   man   hasn't    any   hair, 
Swearing  is  wicked,  smoke's  no  good; 
He  smoked  and  swore — I  should  think  he 

would. 

"Thirty  years  with  that  tongue  so  sharp? 
Ho,  Angel  Gabriel,  give   him  a  harp, 
A  jeweled  harp  with  a  golden  string! 
Good  sir,  pass  in  where  the  angels  sing 
Gabriel,   give   him   a   seat   alone — 
One  with  a  cushion — up  near  the  throne; 
Call  up  the  angels  to  play  their  best, 
Let  him  enjoy  the  music  and  rest. 

"See  that  on  the  finest  ambrosia  he  feeds, 
He's  had  about  all  the  hell  he  needs; 
It  isn't  hardly  the  thing  to  do 
To  roast  him  on  earth  and  the  future  too." 

They  gave  him  a  harp  with  golden  strings, 
A  glimmering  robe   and   a   pair   of  wings, 
And  he  said  as  he  entered  the  realm  of  day, 
"Well,  this  beats  cucumbers  anyway." 
And  so  the  scriptures  had  come  to  pass, 
That,  "The  last  shall  be  first,  and  the  first   * 
shall  be  last." 


MOTHER. 


In  all  the  world,  go  where  you  will. 

You'll  never  :^nd  another. 
Who'll  stick  to  you  through  good  or  ill, 

And  love  you  like  a  mother. 

In  all  the  world  where'er  you  roam, 
With  sister,  wife  or  brother. 

You'll  never  know  so  sweet  a  home, 
As   that   made  by  mother. 


18. 


i  ( 


Picked  up  Her  e  and  There,'' 


in  all  the  world  though  wealth  commands, 

For  you  the  work  of  others; 
You  ^11  never  find  a  pair  of  h^nds 

To  toil  for  you  like  mother's. 


We  have  no  right  to  judge  a  man, 
Until  he  is  fairly  tried; 

Should  we  not  like  his  company, 
We  know  the  world  is  wide. 


In  all  the  world,  although  you  should, 

In    riches    nearly    smother; 
You'll  taste  no  cooking  half  so  good, 

As  that  prepared  by  mother. 

In  all  the  world,  though  friends  sincere. 
And  more  to  'you  than  brothers; 

Youll  never  for  a  moment  hear 
A  voice   so   kind  as  mother 's. 


Some  have  faults,  but  who  have  not; 

The  old  as  well  as  young; 
Pel  haps  wc  may,  for  aught  we  know, 

Have   fifty   to   their   one. 

I'll  tell  you  of  a  better  plan, 
And  find  it  works  as  well; 

To  try  my  own  defects  to  cure, 
Before  or  others  tell. 


In  all  the  world,  although  you  break 
The  tender  hearts   of  others; 

There  is  no  heart  can  ever  ache 
For  you  as  much  as  mother's. 

In  all  the  world,  though  you  create 

A  pleasure  for  another; 
You  can  give  none  a  joy  so  great. 

As  you  can  give  to  mother. 

In  all  the  world,  although  a  wife. 
May  you  in  goodness  smother; 

There 's  none  who  '11  sacrifice  a  life 
For  you  as  quick  as  mother. 

In  all  the  world,  though  you  in  bliss, 

May  soon  forget  another; 
There  is  no  one  whom  you  will  miss 

When  she  is  gone,  like  mother. 


BRUSH  OFF  YOUR  OWN  DOOR-STEPS 
FIRST. 

In  speaking  of  a  persons  faults, 

Pray  don't  forget  your  own; 
Remember  those  with  homes  of  glass. 

Should  never  throw  a  stone. 

If  we  have  nothing  else  to  do, 

But  talk  of  those  who  sin; 
'Tis  better  we  commence  at  home, 

And  from  that  point  begin. 


And  though  I  sometimes  hope  to  be, 
No  worse  than  some  I  know; 

My  own  shortcomings  bid  me  let 
Tho  faults  of  others  go. 

Then  lot  us   all,   when   we  begin 

To  slander  friend  or  foe. 
Think  of  the  harm  one  word  may  do, 

To  those  we  little  know. 

Eemember,  curses  sometimes,  like 
Little  chickens,  roost  at  home; 

Don't  speak  of  other's  faults  until 
You  have  fully  tried  you  own. 


FAREWELL,  OLD  HOME. 

Farewell,  old  home,  I  leave  in  tears 
Dear  mother,  sister,  brother; 

For  many  are  the  weary  years 
Ere  we   shall  meet   each   other. 

Farewell,  old  oak,  oft  have  I  played 

Beneath  thy  gentle  wave; 
Still  live  and  let  thy  branches  shade 

Dear  father's  lonely  grave. 

Farewell,  old  fields,  where  once,  a  boy 

I  loved  so  well  to  roam; 
Farewell,  sweet  flowers,  my  sister's  joy. 

Still  bloom  and  cheer  their  home. 


*^ Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.'' 


19. 


Farewell,  my  dog,  I  leave  you  now, 

There's  sadness  in  your  eye; 
You  can  not  speak  but  seem  to  bow 

As  if  to  say  good-bye. 

Farewell,  old  horse,  good,  faithful  friend. 

No  more  well  till  the  soil. 
But  may  some  other  hand  defend 

Your  weary  limbs  from  toil. 

Farewell,  old  grove  of  giant  trees — 

You  wave  your  farewell  too, 
As  bending  to  the  evening  breeze 

You   softly   sigh,   adieu! 

Farewell,  sweetheart,  I  cherish  still 

Your  mem'ry  in  my  heart. 
But  fate's  decree  and  heaven's  will 

Have  destined  us  to  part. 

Farewell  to  all,  God  knows    'tis  best, 

He  willed  it  long  before. 
But  soon  we  all  shall  be  at  rest 

Where  parting  is  no  more. 


KISS  ME,  MOTHER,  KISS  YOUR 
DARLING. 

Kiss  me,  mother,  kiss  your  darling, 

Lay  my  head  upon  your  breast. 
Fold  your  loving  arms  around  me 

I  am  weary,  let  me  rest. 
Scenes  of  life  are  swiftly  fading. 

Brighter  seems  the  other  shore; 
I   am   standing  by  the   river. 

Angels  wait  to  waft  me  o  ti. 

Chorus — 


Kiss  me,  mother,  kiss  your  darling. 

Breathe  a  blessing  on  my  brow, 
For  I'll  soon  be  with  the  angels — 

Fainter  grows  my  breath  e  'en  now. 
Tell  the  loved  one  not  to  murmur; 

Say  I  died  our  flag  to  save. 
And  that  I  shall  slumber  sweetly 

In  the  soldier's  honored  grave. — Cho^ 

Oh!   how  dark  this  world  is  growing — 

Hark!  I  hear  the  angel  band — 
How  I  long  to  join  their  nuhaber 

In  that  fair  and  happy  land! 
Hear  you  not  that  heavenly  music 

Floating  near  so  soft  and  low? 
I  must  leave  you — ^farewell  mother! 

Kiss  me  once  before  I  go. — Cho. 


THE  ORPHAN  GIRL. 

No  home  no  home  for  a  little  girl 
At  the  door  of  the  prince's  hall, 

She  trembling  stood  on  the  parlor  step' 
And  leaned  on  the  marble  wall. 

Her  clothes  were  thin,  her  feet  were  bare>. 

The   snow  had  covered  her  head. 
Give  me  a  home  she  feebly  said, 

A  home  and  a  piece  of  bread. 

My  father,  alas,  I  never  knew — 

And  the  tears  in  her  eyes  so  bright — 

My  mother  sleeps  in  a  new-made  grave, 
I'm  an  orphan  girl  tonight. 

The    night    was    dark    and    the    snow    fell 
fast — 
The  rich  man  shut  his  door; 
His    proud    heart    frowned,    he    scornfully 
said: 
No  room,  no  bread  for  the  poor. 


Kiss  me,  mother,  kiss  your  darling, 
Lay  my  head  upon  your  breast. 

Fold   your  loving  arms   around  me, 
I  am  weary,  let  me  rest. 


The  rich  man  sleeps  on  his  velvet  couch, 
And  dreams  of  his  silver  and  gold; 

The  poor  little  girl  on  a  bed  of  snow^ 
She  murmurs,   so   cold,   so   cold.. 


20. 


( ( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


Her  clothes  were  thin,  her  feet  were  bare, 
The  snow  had  covered  her  feet, 

Her  little  torn  dress  all  covered  in  snow, 
Yes,  covered  in  snow  and  sleet. 

The  hours  rolled  on,  and  midnight  came. 

It  seemed  as  a  funeral  bell, 
For   oh!    she    was    wrapped   in    a   winding 
sheet. 

And  the  drifting  snow  still  fell 

The  morning  came   and  the  little   girl. 
Still  lying  at  the  rich  man's  door. 

Her  soul  had  fled  to  a  world  above, 

Where   there's   room   and  bread   for  the 
poor. 


DEAR  HEART. 

Dear  heart  I  find  we  're  growing  old, 
The  years  so   quickly  passed  away, 

Since  first  we  met  have  left  their  trace 
Upon  both  in  threads  of  gray. 

The  rose  has  faded  from  our  cheek. 
But  never  has  your  heart  grown  cold 

Nor   do  we  love   each  other  less, 

Dear  heart,  because  we're  growing  old. 

To  me  you're  fairer  than  you  were. 
The  day  I  claimed  you  for  my  bride. 

And  held  you  fondly  in  my  arms, 
ITn conscious  of  all  else  beside. 

The  faded  cheek  and  whitened  hair. 
Has  yet  for  me  a  charm  untold, 

Tliat   only  strengthens  with  each  year, 
Dear  heart,  now  we  are  growing  old. 

Full  forty  years  have  passed  since  then. 
Years  filled  with  only  purest  joy — 

No  cloud  has  ever  crossed  our  path, 
Our  bliss  has  been  without  alloy. 

And  when  we  reach  the  shining  shore, 
And  pearly  gates,  to  us  unfold, 

God   grant   we   both    may    enter   in. 
Dear  heart  and  never  more  grow  old. 


I'LL  REMEMBER  YOU,  MY  LOVE, 
IN  MY  PRAYERS. 

When    the    curtains    of    night    are    pinned 
back  by  the  stars. 

And  the  beautiful  moon  leaps  the  skies. 
And  the   dewdrops   of  heaven   are  kissing 
the  rose, 

It  is  then  that  my  memory  flies 
As  if  on  the  wings  of  some  beautiful  dove, 

In  haste  with  the  message  it  bears, 
To  bring  you  a  kiss  of  affection  and  say: 

''I'll  remember  you,  love,   in  my  pray- 


ers 


J  J 


Chorus — 

Go  where  you  will — on  land  or  at  sea — 

I'll  share  all  your  sorrows  and  cares. 
And  when  by  my  bedside  I  kneel  down  to 
pray 

I'll  lemember  you,  love,  in  my  prayers. 

I've  loved  you  too  fondly  to   ever  forget 

The  love  you  have  spoken  for  me. 
And  the  kisses  of  affection  still  warm  on 
my   lips. 
When  you  told  me  how  true  you  would 
be, 
I  know  not  if  fortune  be  fickle  or  friend. 

Of  if  time  on  your  memory  wears, 
I    know    that    I    love    you,    wherever    you 
roam. 
And  remember  you,  love,  in  my  prayers. 

Chorus. — 

When    heavenly    angels    are    guarding   the 
good. 
As  God  has  ordained  them  to  do. 
In    answer   to    prayers    I   have    offered   to 
Him, 
I  know  there  is  one  watching  you, 
And    may   its    bright    spirit   be    with   you 
through  life, 
To  guide  you  up  heaven's  bright  stairs, 
And  meet  with  the  one  who  has  loved  you 
so  true. 
And  remembered  you,  love,  in  her  pray- 
ers. 


''  Gleanings  from-  the  Gullies. 


>> 


21. 


THE  OLD  CABIN  HOME. 

I  am  going  far   away  far  away  to  leave 
you  now 
To  the  Mississippi  river  I  am  going, 
I  will  take  my  banjo    'long  and  I'll  sing 
dis  little  song; 
Away  down  in  my  old  cabin  home. 

Chorus — 

Here  is  my  old  cabin  home, 

Here  is  my  sister  and  my  brother, 
Here  lies  my  wife,  the  joy  of  my  life. 

And    my    child    in    the    grave    with    its 
mother. 

I  am  going   to  leave   this   land  with   this 
our  darkey  band, 
To  travel  all  this  wide  world  over, 
And  when  I  get  tired,  I  will  settle  down 
to  rest, 
Away  down  in  my  old  cabin  honae. 

When   old  age   comes  on,   and   my  hair  is 
turning  gray, 
I  will  hang  up  de  banjo  all  alone, 
I'll  sit  down  by  the  fire,  and  I'll  pass  the 
time  away. 
Away  down  in  my  old  cabin  home. 

'Tis  dar  where  I  roam,  way   down  on  de 
old  farm, 
Where  the   darkies  are  free 
Oh!   merrily  sound  de  banjo  for  de  white 
folks  in  de  room. 
Away  down  in  my  old  cabin  home. 


WHEN  YOU  AND  I  WERE  YOUNG. 

I  wandered  today  to  the  hills,  Maggie, 

To  watch  the  scenes  below. 
The    creek    and    the    creaking    old    mill, 
Maggie, 

As  we  used  to  long  ago. 

The  green  grove  has  gone  from  the  Mil, 
Maggie, 

Where  first   the   daisies   sprung. 
The  creaking  old  mill  is  still,  Maggie, 

Since  you  and  I  were  young. 


Chorus — 

And  now  we  are  aged  and  gray,  Maggie, 

The    trials    of   life   nearly   done. 
Let  us  sing  of  the  old  days  that  are  gone, 

Maggie, 
When  you  and  I  were  young. 

A   city   so   silent   and  lonely,  Maggie, 
■  Where  the  young  and  the  gay  and  the 

best, 
In     polished     white     mansions     of     stone, 

Maggie, 
Have  each  found  a  place  of  rest. 

They  say  I  am  feeble  with  age,  Maggie, 
My   steps   are  less   sprightly   than   then, 

My  face'  is   a  well-written  page,   Maggie; 
But  time  alone  was  the  pen. 

They  say  we  are  aged  and  gray,  Maggie, 
As   spray   by   the  white   breakers   flung, 

But  to  me  you  are  as  f air y*  Maggie, 
When  you  and  I  were  young. 


THE  FATAL  WEDDING. 

The  wedding  bells  were  ringing  on 

A  moonlight  winter  night. 
The  church  was  decorated,  all 

Within  was  gay  and  bright. 
A  mother  with  her  baby  came 

And  saw  the  lights  aglow. 
She     thought   of  how     those   same     bells 
chimed 

For  her  three  years  ago. 
I'd  like  to  be  admitted,  sir. 

She  told  the   sexton   old, 
Just  for  the  sake  of  baby  to 

Protect  him  from  the  cold. 
He  told  her  that  the  wedding  there 

Was  for  the  rich  and  grand 
And  with  the  eager  watching  crowd 

Outside  she'd  have  to  stand. 


22. 


a 


Picked  up  Here  and  There 


ff 


Chorus — 

While  the  wedding  bells  were  ringing, 
While  the  bride  and  groom  were  there 

Marching  up  the  aisle  together  as 
The  organ  pealed  an  air, 

Telling  tales   of     fond   affection,     vowing 
never   more   to   part — 

Just   another  fatal  wedding, 
Just  another  broken  heart. 


-She  begged  the  sexton  once  again 

To  let  her  pass  inside 
cFor  baby's  sake  you  may  step  in, 
^    The    gray-haired    man    replied, 
If  any  one  knows  reason  why 

This   couple   should   not   wed 
Speak  now  or  hold  your  peace  forever, 

Soon  the  preacher  said, 
I  must  object,  the  woman  cried 

With   voice   so   meek   and   mild. 
The  bridegroom  is  my  husband,  sir, 

And  this  our  little  child. 
What  proof  have  you,  the  preacher  asked; 

My  infant,  she  cried. 
She  raised  her  babe,  then  knelt  to  pray, 

The  little  one  had  died 


'The  parents  of  the  bride  then  took 

The  outcast  by  the  arm, 
IVe'U  care  for  you  through  life,  they  said, 

You've  saved  our  child  from  harm. 
The   outcast   wife — the   bride   and  parents 

Quickly  drove  away. 
The  father  died  by  his  own  hand 

Before  the   break  of   day. 
"No  wedding  feast  was  spread  that  night, 

Two  graves  were  made  next  day. 
One  for  the  little  baby  and 

In  one  the  father  lay. 
The  story  has  been   often  told 

By  fireside,  warm  and  bright, 
Of  bride  and  groom — the  outcast,  and 

That  fatal  wedding  night. 


PUT  MY  LITTLE  SHOES  AWAY. 

Mother,  dear,  come  bathe  my  forehead, 

For  I'm  growing  very  weak — 
Mother  let  one  drop  of  water 

Fall  upon  my  burning  cheek. 
Tell  my  loving  little  schoolmates. 

That  I  never  more  will  play. 
Give  them  all  my  toys,  but  mother 

Put  my  little  shoes  away. 

Chorus — 

I  am  going  to  leave  you,  mother. 

So   remember  what  I   say. 
Oh,  do  it,  won't  you?  please  mother, 

Put   my  little   shoes  away. 

Santa  Claus  he  gave  them  to  me 

With  a  lot  of  other  things. 
And  I  think  he  brought  an  angel 

With  a  pair  of  golden  wings. 
Mother  I  will  be  an  angel. 

By  perhaps  another  day. 
So  you  will  then,  dearest  mother. 

Put  my  little  shoes  away. — Chorus. 

Soon  the  baby  will  be  large. 

Then  they'll  fit  his  little  feet; 
Oh!  he'll  look  so  nice  and  cunning. 

As  he  walks  along  the  street. 
Now  I'm  getting  tired,  mother. 

Now  soon  I'll  say  to  all  good  day, 
Please  remember  what  I  tell  you. 

Put  my  little  shoes  away. — Chorus. 


COME  HOME,  FATHER. 

Father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me 
now. 
The  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  one; 
You  said  you  were  coming  right  home  from 
the  shop. 
As  soon  as  you  day's  work  was  done. 
Our  fire    has   gone   out — our   house   is   all 
dark — 
And  mother's  been  watching  since  tea, 
With  poor  brother  Benny  so   sick  in  her 
arms, 
And  no  one  to  help  her  but  me. 


<( 


Gleanings  from   the  Gullies. 


»? 


23. 


Chorus — 

Come  home!   come  home!    come  home! 
Please  father,  dear  father,  come  home, 
Hear  the  sweet  voice  of  the  child, 
Which   the   night  winds   repeat   as   they 
roam! 
Oh,  who    could   resist   this   most   plaintive 
of  prayers? 
Please  father,  dear  father,  come  home! 
Father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me 
now. 
The  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  two; 
The   night   has   grown   colder,  and  Benny 
is  worse — 
But  he  has  been  calling  for  you. 
Indeed  he  is  worse — ma  says  he  will  die. 

Perhaps  before  morning  shall  dawn; 
And  this  is  the  message   she  sent  me  to 
bring 
**Come   quickly,   or   he   will   be   gone/' 
— Chorus. 

Father,  dear  father,  come  home  with  me 
i;ow, 
The  clock  in  the  steeple  strikes  three; 
The  house  is  so  lonely — the  hours  are  so 
long 
For   poor  weeping  mother  and   me. 
Yes  we  are  alone — poor  Benny  is  dead, 

And  gone  with  the  angels  of  light; 
And  these  were  the  very  last  words  that 
he  said: 
I  want  to  kiss  papa  good-night. 

Chorus — 

Come  home!    come  home!   come  home! 

Please  father,  dear  father,  come  home. 


ILL  BE  ALL  SMILES  TONIGHT. 
I'll   deck  my  brow  with   roses,   the  loved 
!         one  may  be  there. 
The  gem  that   others  gave  me,  will  shine 

within  my  hair; 
And  even  them  that  know  me,  will  think 

my  heart  is  light. 
Though  my  heart  will  break  tomorrow, 
I'll  be  all   smiles  tonight. 


Chorus — 

I'll  be  all  smiles  tonight,  love,  I'll  be  all 

smiles  tonight. 
Though  my  heart  should  break  tomorrow, 
I'll  be  all  smiles  tonight. 

And  when  the  room  he  entered,  the  bride 

upon  his  arm, 
T  stood  and  gazed  upon  him  as  if  he  were 

a  charm. 
So  once  he   smiled  upon  her,  so   once  he 

smiled  on  me. 
They  knew  not  what  I  suffered,  they  found 

no  change  in  me. — Chorus. 

And  when  the  song  commences.  Oh!   how 

I  will  rejoice, 
I'll  sing  the   song  he  taught  me  without 

one  faltering  voice. 
When    flatterers    come    around    me,    they 

will  think  my  heart  is  light 
Though  my  heart  will  break  tomorrow, 
I'll  be  all  smiles  tonight. — Chorus. 

And  when  the  dance  is  over,  and  all  have 

gone  to  rest, 
I'll   think   of   him,   dear   mother,   the   one 

that  I  love  best, 
lie  once  did  love,  believe  me,  but  has  now 

grown   cold  and  strange. 
He  sought  not  to  deceive  me  false  friends 

have  wrought  this  change. — Chorus. 


HOME,  SWEET  HOME. 

'Mid    pleasures    and    palaces,    though    we 

may  roam. 
Be  it  ever  so  humble  there's  no  place  like 

home; 
A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow 

us  there. 

Chorus — 

Home,  home,  sweet,  sweet  home. 
Be  it  ever  so  humble,  there's  no  place  like 
home. 


24. 


^^ Picked  wp  Here  and  There. 


»? 


\. 


I  gaze  on  the  moon,  as  I  trace  the  drear      And  her  bright-eyed   daughters,  none   can 

fairer  be, 
Oh!   it  is  the  land  of  love  and  sweet  lib- 
erty. 

Down  in  Carolina  grows  the  lofty  pine, 

And  her  groves  and  forests  bear  the  scent- 
ed  vine; 

Here  are  peaceful  homes  too,  nestling  'mid 
the  flowers — 

Oh!  there  is  no  land  on  earth  like  this 
fair  land  of  ours. — Chorus. 

Come  to  Carolina  in  the  summer  time, 

When  her  luscious  fruits  are  hanging  in 
their  prime. 

And  the  maidens  singing  in  the  leafy  bow- 
ers— 

Oh!  there  is  no  land  on  earth  like  this 
fair  land  of  ours. — Chorus. 

All  her   girls   are   charming,   graceful  too, 

and  gay, 
Happy  as   the  bluebirds  in  the   month  of 

May, 
And    they    steal    your    ear,    too,    by    their 

magic  powers— 
Oh!   there  are  no  girls  on  earth  that  can 

compare   with   ours. — Chorus. 

And  her  sons  so  true,  in  ^'warp  and  woof 

and  * 'grain," 
First    to    shed    their    blood    on    freedom's 

battle  plain; 
And  the  first  to  hail  from  sea  to  mountain 

bowers, 
Strangers  from  all  other  lands  to  this  fair 

land  of  ours. — Chorus. 
Then    for    Carolina,   brave,    and   free   and 

strong, 
Sound  the  need  of  praises  ''in  story  and 

in  song," 
From    her   fertile    vales    and   lofty    grand 

towers — 


wild. 

And  feel  that  my  parent  now  thinks  of 
her  child; 

She  looks  on  that  moon  from  our  own  cot- 
tage  door. 

Through  woodbines  whose  fragrance  shall 
cheer  me  no  more. — Chorus. 

An   exile  from   home,   splendor   dazzles   in 

vain ; 
Oh!    give    me   my  lowly   thatched   cottage 

again; 
The  birds  singing,  that  come  at  my  call; 
Give  me  them,  sweet  of  mine  dearer  than 

all. — Chorus. 

If  I  return  home  overburdened  with  care, 
The    heart's    dearest    solace    I'm    sure    to 

meet  there; 
The  bliss  I  experience  whenever  I  come. 
Makes   no    other  place   seem   like    that   of 

sweet  home. — Chorus. 

Farewell,  peaceful  cottage,  farewell  happy 

home. 
Forever  I'm  doomed  a  poor  exile  to  roam; 
This  poor  aching  heart  must  be  laid  in  the 

tomb. 
Ere  it  cease  to  regret  the  endearments  of 

home. — Chorus. 


HO!   FOR  CAROLINA. 

Let  no  heart  in  sorrow  weep  for  other 
days; 

Let  no  idle  dreamers  tell  in  melting  flays 

Of  the  merry  meetings  in  the  rosy  bow- 
ers; 

For  there  is  no  land  on  earth  like  this  fair 
land  of  ours. 


Chorus — 

Ho!  for  Carolina  that's  the  land  for  me; 

In  her  happy  borders  roam  the  brave  and  For   there   is   no   land   on    earth   like   this 
free;  fair  land  of  ours. — Chorus. 


tt 


Gleanings  from   the  Gullies. 


f> 


25. 


GRANDFATHER'S  CLOCK. 

My  grandfather's  clock  was  too  large  for 
the  shelf 
So  it  stood  ninety  years  on  the  floor; 
It  was   taller  by  half  than  the   old  man 
himself, 
Though  it  weighed  not  a  penny  weight 
more ; 
It  was  bought  on  the  morn  of  the  day  that 
he  was  born, 
And  was  always  his  pleasure  and  pride: 
But  it  stopped  short — never  to  go  again, 
When  the  old  man  died. 

Chorus — 

Ninety    years    without    isliimbering — tick, 

tick,  tick,  tick; 
His   life's   seconds   numbering — tick,   tick, 

tick,  tick; 
It  stopped  short — never  to  go  again — 
When  the  old  man  died. 

In  watching  its  pendulum  swinging  to  and 

fro. 
Many  hours  had  he  spent  when  a  boy 
And  in  childhood  and  manhood  the  clock 
seemed  to  know, 
And  to  share  both  his  grief  and  his  joy; 
For  it  struck  twenty-four  when  he  entered 
the   door 
With  a  blooming  and  beautiful  bride 
But  it  stopped  short — never  to  go  again — 
When   the    old   main   died. — Chorus. 

My  grandfather  said  that  those  he'  could 
hire, 
Not  a  servant  so  faithful  he  found, 
For  it  wasted  no  time  and  had  but   one 

desire — 
At  the  close  of  each  week  to  be  wound, 
It  was  kept  in  its  place — not  a  frown  upon 
its  face, 
And  its  hands  never  hung  by  its  side, 
'  But  it  stopped  short — never  to  go  again — 
When  the  old  man  died. — Chorus. 


It  rang  an  alarm  in  the  dead  of  the  night — 
An      alarm   that   for     years   had     been 
dumb — 
And  we  knew  that  his  spirit  was  pluming 
for  flight — 
That  his  hour  for  departure  had  come. 
Still  the  clock  kept  time  with  a  soft  and 
muffled   chime, 
As  we  silently  stood  by  his  side, 
But  it  stopped  short — never  to  go  again — ■ 
When  the  old  man  died. — Chorus. 


THE  OLD  OAKEN  BUCKET. 

How  dear  to  this  heart  are  the  scenes  of 

my   childhood 
When   fond  recollection  presents  them   to 

view. 
The  orchard,  the  meadow,  the  deep  tangled 

wildwood. 
And  every  loved  spot  which  my  infancy 

knew, 
The    wide-spreading    pond,    the    mill    that 

stood  by  it, 
The  bridge  and  the  rock  where  the  cat- 
aract fell; 
The  cot  of  my  father,  the  dairy  .house  nigh 

it. 
An  e'en  the  rude  bucket  that  hung  in  the 

well. 

Chorus — 

The     old  oaken  bucket,     the  iron     bound 

bucket, 
The  moss-covered  bucket  that  hung  in  the 

well. 

That  moss-covered  bucket  I  hail  as  a  treas- 
ure, 
For  often  at  noon  when  I  returned  from 
the  field, 
I  found  it  the  source  of  an  exquisite  pleas- 
ure, 
The  purest  and  sweetest  that  nature  can 
yield. 


26. 


iC 


Picked  up  Here  and  There,* ^ 


How   ardent  I   seized  it   with   hands   that 
were  glowing, 
And  quick  to  the  white-pebbled  bottom 
it  fell; 
Then  soon  with  the  emblem  of  truth  over- 
flowing, 
And  dripping  with  coolness  it  rose  from 
the  well. — Chorus. 

How  sweet  from  the  green  mossy  rim  to 
receive  it, 
As  poised  on  the  curb  it  inclined  to  my 
lips;   ; 
Not  a  full  gushing  goblet  could  tempt  me 
to  leave  it, 
Though  filled  with  the  nearer  that  Jup- 
iter sips. 
And  now  far  removed  from  the  loved  sit_ 
nation. 
The  tear  of  regret  will  intrusively  swell, 
As  fancy   reverts   to   my   father's   planta- 
tion. 
And   sighs   for   the   bucket   which   hung 
in  the  well. — Chorus. 


A  FACTORY  RHYME. 

Now,  while  I  have  a  leisure  time, 
I'll  try  to  write  a  factory  rhyme. 
I  live  in  Greensboro,  a  lively  town, 
And  work  in   a  factory,  by  the  name  of 
Crown. 


Perhaps  you'd  like  to  know  my  name, 
But    you    never    will — I    don't    write    for 

fame. 
But  I  write  to  let  all  classes  know, 
How  cotton  mill  hands  have  to  go. 

'Tis  not  the  intent  of  my  heart 
To  write  anything  that  would  start 
Animosity  between  my  employer  and  me, 
But  what  I  write  let  factory  people  see. 


That  while  in  factories  we  remain, 
We  are  looked  upon  as  a  set  insane; 
The  upper  tens  who  swell  and  fret. 
Call  us  the  'ignorant  factory  set." 

We  were  not  bred  in  college  walls, 
Never  played  in  theaters  or  danced  in  op- 
era halls. 
Nor  eat  ice  cream,  nor  drank  lemonade. 
Nor  smoked  cigars,  Havana  made. 

Nor  went  to  picnics  every  other  day. 
Nor  went  on  excursions  without  pay, 
Nor  wore  fine  clothes  and  derby  hats. 
Nor   rode   bicycles    and  played   with   ball 
and  bats. 

i 
But  now  I'll  tell  you  what  we  do; 

And  factory  hands  know  it's  true; 

We  rise  up  early  with  the  lark 

And  work  from  dawn  till  after  dark. 

We  have  hard  times  you  all  well  know. 

To  church  we  hardly  get  to  go; 

When    the    Sabbath    comes    we    are    tired 

down 
From  working  hard  the  whole  week  round. 

We  are  looked  upon  as  the  lowest  grade 
Of  the  whole  creation  God  has  made. 
And  I'll  have  you  all  to  ne'er  forget. 
We  are  called  the  ^'poor,  ignorant  factory 

set." 

We  pay  high  prices  for  all  we  eat — 
Molasses  and  coffee,  bread  meat;  , 

And  should  we  fail  our  money  to  get, 
We  are  the  ' '  lying  factory  set. ' ' 

The  merchants  love  to  see  us  at  work, 
But    our    company    on    Sunday    they    will 

shirk; 
But    when    pay-day    comes   our    money    to 

get. 
Then  we  are  the  'Spaying  faet;ory  set." 


(( 


Gleanings  from    the  Gullies." 


27. 


The  darkies  call  us  ''white  factory  trash." 
And  say  we  never  have  a  bit  of  cash; 
But  I'll  have  all  colors  ne'er  forget 
We  are  the  ' '  moneyed  factory  set. ' ' 

Education  we  have  none, 

Father  nor  mother,  daughter  nor  son, 

And  that  is  why  the  people  fret 

And  call  us  the  ''ignorant  factory  set." 

And     now   you've   read     this   rhyme     all 

through, 
And  know  what  I  have  written  is  true. 
And  I  hope  all  Christians  will  ne'er  forget 


To 


pray    for 
set." 


us,    the    "ignorant    factory 


But  in  the  end  we  hope  to  see 

These  people  as  happy  as  they  can  be. 

And  when   the   judge   on  his  throne  shall 

sit; 
We  hope  he  will  say,  "come  in,  happy  fac- 
tory set." 

G.  D.  STUTTS. 


THE  HOME  IN  MOTHER'S  ABSENCE. 

A  home  without  a  mother, 

Is  hardly  home  at  all, 
A  watch  must  have  a  balance  wheel. 

Although  the  watch  be  small. 

I  To  regulate  the  household. 
Better  than  any  other, 
Though  she  is  not  the  motive  power. 
The  balance  wheel  is  "mother." 


I 


The  center  of  domestic  love. 

The  radiating  center, 
How  bright  she  shines  on  those  dear  ones. 

Whom  God  hath  kindly  sent  her. 


All  things  must  have  a  head  you  know, 

For  every  school  a  teacher. 
A  general  for  the  fighting  host, 

And  for  the  church,  a  preacher. 


"Order  is  heaven's  first  law"  tis  said. 

Domestic   order,  no  man 
Has  ever  seen,  complete  and  true, 

On  earth,  without  a  woman! 

"Now,  poor  bachelor,"  says  one, 
"What  can  you  know  about  it," 

I've  been  a  calm  observer,  sir, 
And  why  should   any   doubt  it! 

Although  I  never  owned  a  mill, 

I've   seen  its   operation; 
And  soon,  I  know,  'twould  go  to  wreck 

Without  some  regulation. 


A  TRAMP'S  ELOQUENT  LECTURE. 

A  tramp  asked  for  a  free  drink  in  a 
saloon.  The  request  was  granted,  and  when 
in  the  act  of  drinking  the  proffered  bever- 
age, one  of  the  young  men  present  ex- 
claimed : 

"Stop,  make  us  a  speech.  It  is  a  poor 
liquor  that  doesn't  unloosen  a  man's 
tongue." 

The  tramp  hastily  swallowed  down  the 
drink,  and  as  the  rich  liquor  coursed 
through  his  blood  he  straightened  himself 
and  stood  before  them  with  a  grace  and 
dignity  that  all  his  rags  and  dirt  could 
not  obscure. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "I  look  tonight 
at  you  and  myself,  and  it  seems  to  me  I 
look  upon  the  picture  of  my  lost  manhood. 
This  bloated  face  was  once  as  handsome 
as  yours.  This  shambling  figure  once 
walked  as  proudly  as  yours,  a  man  in  the 
world  of  men.  I  too,  once  had  a  home  and 
friends  and  position.  I  had  a  wife  as 
beautiful  as  an  artist's  dream,  and  I  drop- 
ped the  priceless  pearl  of  her  honor  and 
respect  in  the  winecup,  and  Cleopatra.like, 
saw  it  dissolve  and  quaffed  it  down  in  the 
brimming  draught.  I  had  children  as 
sweet  and  lovely  as  the  flowers  of  spring, 
and    saw    them    fade    and    die    under    the 


I 


28. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There. 


>  f 


blighting  curse  of  a  drunken  father.  I 
had  a  home  where  love  lit  the  flame  upon 
the  altar  and  minstered  before  it,  and  I 
put  out  the  holy  fire  and  darkness  and 
desolation  reigned  in  its  stead.  I  had  as- 
pirations and  ambitions  that  soared  as 
high  as  the  morning  star  and  broke  and 
bursted  their  beautiful  wings,  and  at  last 
strangled  them  that  I  might  be  tortured 
with  their  cries  no  more.  Today  I  am  a 
husband  without  a  wife,  a  father  without 
a  child,  a  tramp  with  no  home  to  call  his 
own,  a  man  in  whom  every  good  impulse 
is  dead.  And,  all  swallowed  up  in  the 
maelstrom  of  drink.'' 

The  tramp  ceased  speaking.  The  glass 
fell  from  his  nerveless  fingers  and  shiver- 
ed into  a  thousand  pieces.  When  the  lit- 
tle group  about  the  bar  looked  up  the 
tramp  was  gone. — New  Orleans  Picayune. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  SNOW. 

The  Omaha  Eepublican  gives  the  fol- 
lowing history  of  the  production  which 
the  London  Spectator  pronounces  the  fin- 
est poem  ever  written  in  America.  In  the 
early  part  of  the  war  on  a  stormy  night, 
right  in  the  dead  of  winter  there  died  at 
the  Commercial  Hospital,  in  Cincinnati,  a 
young  woman,  over  whose  head  only  sum- 
mers had  passed.  She  had  once  been  pos- 
sessed of  an  enviable  share  of  beauty  and 
had  been  as  she  herself  said,  ''flattered 
and  sought  for  the  charms  on  her  face," 
but  alas!  she  had  fallen  from  woman's 
high  estate.  Highly  educated  and  with 
accomplished  manners,  she  might  have 
shone  in  the  highest  society.  But  the  evil 
hour  that  procured  her  ruin  was  the  one 
from  which  went  out  the  innocence  of 
childhood;  and  having  spent  a  young  life 
in  disgrace  and  shame,  the  po,or  and  friend- 
less one  died  the  melancholy  death  of  a 
broken  hearted  outcast.  Among  her  per- 
gonal    effects  was     found  in     manuscript, 


''The  Beautiful  Snow,"  which  was  car- 
ried to  Enos  B.  Eeed,  a  gentleman  of  cul- 
ture and  literary  taste,  who  was  at  that 
time  of  the  National  Union  In  the  col- 
umns of  that  paper  on  the  morning  of  the 
day  following  the  girl's  death,,  the  poem 
appeared  in  print  the  first  time.  When  the 
paper  containing  the  poem  came  out,  the 
body  of  the  victim  had  not  yet  received 
burial.  The  attention  of  Thomas  Buchanan 
Eeed,  one  of  the  first  American  poets,  was 
so  taken  with  the  stirring  pathos  that  he 
immediately  followed  the  corpse  to  its  final 
resting  place.  Such  are  the  plain  facts 
concerning  he»  whose  "Beautiful  Snow" 
will  long  be  remembered  as  one  of  the 
brightest  gems  in  American  literature. 

Oh!  the  snow,  the  beautiful  snow! 
Filling  the  sky  and  the  earth  below. 
Over  the  housetops,  over  the  street. 
Over  the  heads  of  all  the  people  you  meet. 
Dancing,   flitting,    skipping   along; 
Beautiful  snow!  it  can  do  nothing  wrong, 
Flying  to  kiss  the  fair  lady's  cheek. 
Clinging  to  lips  in  a  frolicksome  freak. 
Beautiful  snow  from  the  heavens  above, 
Pure  as  an  angel,  gentle  as  love. 

Oh!  the  snow,  the  beautiful  snow! 

How  the  flakes  gather  and  light  as  they 

go 
Whirling  about  in  their  maddening  fun; 
It  plays  in  its  glee  with  every  one. 
Chasing,  laughing,  hurrying  by. 
It  lights  on  the  face  and  sparkles  the  eye, 
And    playing    dogs    with    a    bark    and    a 

bound 
Snap  at  the  crystals  that  eddy  around; 
The  town  is  alive  and  its  health's  aglow 
To   welcome   the   coming  of  the  beautiful 

snow. 

How  wildly  the  crowd  goes  swaying  along, 
Hailing  each  other  with  humor  and  song, 
How  the  gay  sleds  like  meteors  pass  by. 
Bright  for  a  moment,  then  lost  to  the  eye; 


<i 


Gleanings  from   the  Gullies. 


29. 


Ringing,  swinging,   dashing  they  go, 
I  Over  the  crest  of  the  beautiful  snow — 
I  Snow  so  pure  when  it  fell  from  the  sky, 
As  to  make   one  regret — to  see  it  lie 
To  be  trampled  and  tracked  by  thousands 

of  feet, 
Till  it  blends  with  the  filth  of  the  horrible 

street. - 
Once  I  was  as  pure  as  the  snow,  but  I  fell. 
Fell  like  a  snowflake,  from  heaven  to  hell; 
Fell  to  be  trampled  on  as  filth  in  the  street, 
Fell  to  be  scoffed,  to  be  spit  on  and  beat; 
Pleading,   cursing,   dreading  to   die! 
Selling  my  soul  to  whoever  would  buy. 
Dealing  in  shame  for  a  morsel  of  bread; 
Hating  the  living,  fearing  the  dead, 
Merciful  God!  Have  I  fallen  so  low! 
And  yet  was  once  like  the  beautiful  snow. 

Once  I  was  fair  as  the  beautiful  snow, 
With  an  eye  like  a  crystal,  a  heart  like  its 

glow. 
Once  I  was  loved  for  my  innocent  grace. 
Flattered  and  sought  for  the  charms  of  my 

face, 
Father,    mother,    sister,    all, 
God  and  myself  have  lost  my  fall! 
The  vilest  wretch  that  goes  shivering  by, 
Will  make  a  wide  aweep  lest  I  wander  too 

nigh, 
For  all  that  is  on  or  above  me,  I  know 
There's  nothing   so   pure   as   the  beautiful 

snow. 

How  strange  it  should  be  that  the  beauti- 
ful sn-ow 
Should  fall  on  the  sinner  with  nowhere  to 

go, 

How  strange  it  should  be"  when  night 
comes   again. 

If  the  snow  and  the  ice  struck  my  des- 
perate brain! 

Fainting,  freezing,  dying  alone, 

Too  wicked  for  prayer,  too  weak  for  a 
moan. 


To  be  heard  on  the  street  of  a  crazy  town, 
Gone   mad   in   the   joy   of   a   snow   coming 

down, 
To  be  and  to  die  in  my  teiT-ible  woe, 
With  a  bed  and  a  shroud  of  the  beautiful 

snow. 

Helpless  and  foul  as  the  trampled  snow, 
Sinner,  despair  not,  Christ  stoopeth  low 
To  rescue  the  soul  that  is  lost  in  its  sin, 
And  raise  to  life  and  enjoyment  again. 
Groaning,  bleeding,  dying  for  Thee, 
The   crucified  on  the  accursed  tree, 
His  accents  of  mercy  fell  soft  on  thine  ear 
Is  there  mercy  for  me?     Will  He  heed  my 

prayer? 
O  God!  in  the  stream  that  for  sinners  did 

flow. 
Wash  me,  and  I  shall  be  whiter  than  snow. 


THE  TRAMP. 

How  many  men  there  are  that  ride  in  for- 
tune's  car; 
And  bolt   and  bar  the   door  against  the 
poor, 
Because  they've  lots  of  gold  their  hearts 
turn  icy  cold. 
They  sought  to  be  condemned  for  it  I'm 
sure. 
Now  speaking  of  the  race,  that  tramp  from 
place  to  place. 
There   are   some   of   them   who   are   men 
from  top  to  toe. 
So  if  they  are  in  need  of  this  circumstance 
take    heed. 
And  remember  that  a  poor  tramp  has  to 
live. 

So  if  you  meet  a  tramp  that  bears  misfor- 
tune's tramp. 
If  he's  worthy  of  your  aid,  why  freely 
give. 
Give  to  him  a  hearty  grip,  wish  him  luck 
upon  his  trip. 
And  remember  that  the  poor  tramp  has 
to  live. 


30. 


a 


Picked  up  Here  and  There. 


*  f 


I  lately  saw  a  tramp,  whom  people  called 
a  scamp, 
And    upon    him    set    their    dogs    lest    he 
might  steal, 
And  as  he  turned  away,  I  saw  him  kneel 
and  pray. 
And  I  know  that  God  above  heard  his 
appeal. 
For     little    do    we     know,    as    he     tramps 
through  rain  and  snow, 
That  once  he  was  as  happy  as  a  king; 
Till  fortune's  cruel  dart  pierced  his  naanly 
heart, 
And  took  away  his  home  and  everything. 

I  once  heard  a  tramp  relate  the  sad  story 

of   his   fate. 
And  how  he  was  an  outcast  shunned  by 

all. 
He  lived  a  happy  life,  had  a  loving  child 

and  wife; 
But,  alas,  like  Eve,  this  woman  had  to 

fall; 
For  she  proved  weak  and  frail,  there's  no 

use  to  tell  the  tale. 
How  she  turned  his  manly  hekrt  to  sad 

despair, 
He  never  since   has  smiled  on  that   hand- 
some wife  and  child; 
But   sadly   now   he   tramps   from   place   to 

place. 


THE  BLIND  GIRL'S  DEATH. 

Father,  they  tell  me  that  tonight 

'  You'll  wed   another  bride, 
That  you  will   clasp  her  in  those  arms 
Where  my  own  mother  died. 


That  she  will  lay  her  graceful  head 
Upon  your  loving  breast. 

While  her's  now  lying  low  in  death 
In  life's  last  hour  did  rest. 


They  say  her  name  is  Mary,  too, 

The  same  my  mother  bore. 
But,  father,  is  she  good  and  true, 

Like  her  you  loved  before? 

And  is  her  step  as  soft  and  light? 

Her  voice  you  think  shall  love  me  too — 

Your  blind  and  helpless   child? 
Oh!  father,  do  not  bid  me  come 

Tonight,  to  meet  your  bride, 
I  could  not  meet  her  in  the  room 

Where  my  darling  mother  died. 

Her  picture  hangs  upon  the  wall, 

Her  books  are  lying  there; 
There  stands  the  harp  her  fingers  touched, 

And  there's  her  easy  chair — 

That  chair  where  by  her  side  I  knelt. 

To  say  my   evening  prayep. 
Oh!  father,  it  would  break  my  heart; 

I  could  not  meet  her  there. 

Now,  father,  once  before  you  go 

To  meet  your  promised  bride. 
Please  sing  the  song  mother  sang 

The  night  before  she  died. 

And  let  me  kneel  beside  you  here 

And  to  €ur  Saviour  pray. 
That  his  right  hand  may  guide  you  both, 

All  through  life's  weary  way. 

The  song  was  ended  and  the  prayer; 

''I'm  weary  now,"  she  said. 
He  gently  bore  her  in  his  arms, 

And  placed  her  on  the  bed. 

And  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  room. 
One  low  glad  moan  was  given. 

He  caught  one  beaming  smile  and  then 
His  blind  child  was  in  heaven. 

They  laid  her  by  her  mother's  side, 

And  raised  a  marble  fair. 
And  on  it  carved  these  simple  words — 

''There  are  no  blind  ones  there." 


** Gleanings  from    the  Gullies/' 


31. 


NAOMI  WISE. 

Come  all  ye  good  people,  I  pray  you  draw 

near, 
A  sorrowful  story  you  soon  shall  hear. 
The    story   I'll    tell   you   is    about    Naomi 

'  Wise, 
How  she  was  deluded  by  Lewis'  lies. 
When  he  first  came  to  see  her,  fine  tales 

he  did  tell. 
He    premised    to    marry    her    and   use    her 

quite  well. 
But  now  he  has  brought  her  to  shame  and 

disgrace. 
Come  friends  and  dear  neighbors  and  pity 

her  case. 

Come  all  you  young  ladies,  as  you  go  pass- 
ing by, 

Don't  you  be  ruined  by  Lewis'  lies. 

He  promised  to  meet  her  at  Adams' 
springs ; 

Some  money  to  bring  her,  and  other  fine 
things. 

But  none  of  these  he  brought  her,  he  flat- 
tered the  case. 

He  says,  ''We'll  be  married,  it  shall  be 
no   disgrace. 

Come,  get  up  behihd  me,  and  we'll  go  to 
the  town; 

And  there  we'll  be  married  and  in  union 
bound." 

She  got  up  behind  him  and  away  they  did 

go 

To   the   banks   of  Deep   Eiver,  where   the 

water   did  flow. 
Get  down,  my  dear  Naomi,  I  tell  you  my 

mind, 
I  intend  here  to  drown  you,  and  leave  you 

behind. 

Oh!    think   of  your  infant,   and   spare   me 

my  life; 
Let  me  live,  full  of  shame,  if  I  can 't  be 

your  wife. 


No  mercy,  no  mercy,  this  rebel  replies, 

In  Deep  Eiver  bottom  your  body  shall  lie. 

This  rebel,  he  choked  her,  as  we  under- 
stand, 

And  threw  her  in  water  below  the  mill- 
dam. 

They  found  her  floating  where  the  water 
was  deep, 

Which  caused  her  neighbors  and  friends 
all  round  her  to  weep. 

They  took  her  from  the  water;  it  was  a 
sad  sight, 

On  the  banks  of  Deep  Eiver  she  lay  all 
that   night, 

Next  morning,  quite  early  a  jury  was  held, 

And  here  good,  honest  neighbors  the  truth 
they  all  tell. 


SWEET  MARIE. 

I've  a  secret  in  my  heart,  sweet  Marie, 

A  tale  I  would  impart,  love,  to  thee. 

Every  daisy  in  the  dell 

Knows  my  secret  well 

And  yet  I  dare  not  tell,  sweet  Marie, 

When   I    hold    your    hand    in    mine,    sweet 

Marie, 
A  feeling  most  divine  comes  to  me; 
All    the    world    is    full    of    spring,    full    of 

warblers  on   the  wing, 
And  I  listen  while  they  sing,  sweet  Marie. 

Chorus — 

Come    to    me,    sweet    Marie,    sweet    Marie, 

come  to  me, 
Not  because  your  face  is  fair,  love  to  see, 
But  your  soul  so  pure  and  sweet 
Makes  my  happiness  complete, 
Makes  me  falter  at  your  feet,  sweet  Marie. 

In  the  morn  when  I  wake,  sweet  Marie, 
Seems  to  me  my  heart  will  break,  love,  for 

thee, 
Every  wave  that  shakes  the  shore. 
Seems  to  sing  it  o'er  and  o'er. 


32. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


Seems  to  say  that  I  adore,  sweet  Marie. 
When    the    sunset    tints    the    west,    sweet 

Marie, 
And  I  sit  down  to  rest,  love,  with  thee, 
Every   star  that   studs   the   sky,   seems  to 

stand  and  wonder  why 
They're   so   dimmer  than  your  eye,   sweet 

Marie. — Chorus. 


THAT  CAR. 

(He   owned  a  handsome  touring  car, 

To  ride  in  it  was  heaven; 
He  ran  across  a  piece  of  glass — 

Bill  $14.97. 

He  took  his  friends  out  for  a  ride, 

'Twas  good  to  be  alive; 
The  carburetor  sprang  a  leak — 

Bill  $40.95. 

He  started  on  a  little  tour. 
The  finest  sort  of  fun; 
He  stopt  too  quick  and  stript  a  gear — 
Bill  $90.51. 

He  took  his  wife  to  town  to  shop, 
To  save  car  fare  was  great; 

He  jammed  into  a  hitching  post — 
Bill  $278. 

He   spent   his   little  pile   of   cash. 
And  then  in  anguish  cried: 
I'll  put  a  mortgage  on  the  place, 
And  take  just  one  more  ride!" 

— The  Hoosier. 


BURLINGTON  CHIPS. 

The  buildings  are  the  tallest 

In    Burlington; 
The  ladies  feet  are  smallest 

In   Burlington; 
The  wits  are  always  keenest. 
The  pavements  are  the  cleanest 
The  boulevards   are   greenest 

In    Burlington. 


The  newspapers  are  brightest 

In  Burlington; 
Policemen  are  politest 

In  Burlington; 
Annoyances  are  fewest. 
And  the   bon-mots   are   the   newest. 
While  the  skies  are  ever  bluest 

In    Burlington, 

The  ladies  are  the  fairest 

In  Burlington; 
And  the  homely  girls  the  rarest 

In  Burlington; 
The  husbands  are  the  neatest. 
While  the  wives  are  the  sweetest 
And  the  errand  boys  are  fleetest 

In    Burlington, 

The  aldermen  are  greatest 

In  Burlington; 
Their  doings  are  the  straightest 

In  Burlington; 
The  waiters  are  the  mildest 
And  the  summers  reconcildest 
And —  *         *         *         * 

The   liars   lie    the   wildest 
In    Burlington. 


WHAT  CAUSED  THE  HARD  TIMES. 

(Conductor  and  Driver.) 

Judge  Hubbard,  of  Iowa,  says  it  is  the 
existence   of   corporations, 

George  Gould  says  it  is  the  hostility  to 
corporations. 

The  farmer  says  it  is  the  low  price  in 
wheat. 

The  silver  men  say  it  is  the  action  of 
Wall  Street. 

The  Wall  Street  men  say  it  is  the  action 
of  the  silver  men. 

The  manufacturer  says  it  is  the  fear  of 
free  trade. 

The  consumer  says  it  is  the  tariff. 

The  debtor  says  it  is  the  creditor. 

The  creditor  says  it  is  the  debtor. 


'^Gleanings  from   the  Gullies 


^' 


83. 


The  Democrats  say  it  is  the  Eepublicans. 

The  Eepublicans  say  it  is  the  Democrats. 

The  Populists  say  it  is  both. 

The  Prohibitionists  say  it  is  whiskey. 

The  preacher  says  it  is  the  devil. 

Now  what  have  you  got  to  say  about  it? 


LINES     IN     MEMORY     OF     JERUSHA 

STUTTS,  WHO  DEPARTED  THIS 

LIFE  NOV.  15,  1911. 

Jerusha,  she  has   ceased  to  be, 
Her  little  form  no  more  we  see, 
Her  sweet  voice  we   hear  no   more, 
Nor  clatter  of  feet  from  door  to  door. 

Her  voice  forever  stilled  in   death — 
It  came,  she  yielded  up  her  breath, 
November  15th,  nineteen  eleven 
She  made  her  exit  from  earth  to  Heaven. 

Her  lifeless  form  we  laid  to  rest. 
In  Graham  cemetery,  God  knew  best 
To  take  her  from  our  fond  embrace, 
Where  she'd  behold  her  Saviour's  face. 

There  she  '11  lie  till  Judgment  Day, 
When  God  to  all  the  dead  will  say, 
^' Arise  to  meet  your  risen  Lord," 
And  wear  a  crown,  your  great  reward. 

We  miss  her  every  passing  day, 
Where  once  she  used  so  much  to  play 
Her  sweet  voice  and  pattering  feet, 
We  hear  no  more  out  on  the  street. 

We  all  must  die  God's  way  is  best, 
We  rest  assured  her  soul's  at  rest. 
And  of  his  goodness  she  will  share. 
When  the  roll  is  called  she  will  be  there. 

\ 
Her  stay  on  earth  was  a  short  time. 
But  now  she  is  in  that  sun-bright  clime 
Resting  in  Jesus'  sweet  embrace. 
Beholding  her  Saviour  face  to  face. 


Free  from  toil,  free  from  care, 
We  hope  one  day  to  meet  her  there, 
Free  from  earthly  toils  and  fears, 
Where  God  will  wipe  away  all  tears. 

Then  cheer  up,  father,  cheer  up  mother, 
Take   courage,  sister,  little  brother. 
Believe  God's  word  and  trust  his  grace, 
And  again  you'll  see  Jerusha 's  face. 

The  blessed  Jesus  spake  these  words  free, 
'^Suffer  little  children  to  come  to  me," 
Forbid  them  not  the  Scriptures  say, 
Then  let  us  all  the  command  obey. 

Farewell  Jerusha  for  a  while. 
We  hope  one  day  to  see  your  smile. 
And  join  you  praising  him  evermore. 
Over  on  that  blissful  shore. 

With  all  the  Saints  around  the  throne. 
Where  we  shall  know  as  we  are  known, 
And  meet  our  dear  departed  friends. 
Where  peace  and  happiness  never  ends. 
— G.    D    STUTTS. 

The  above  lines  were  written  by  G.  D. 
Stutts,  grandfather  of  Jerusha  Stutts. 


THE  BALD.HEADED  MAN. 

The  other  day  a  lady  accompanied  by 
her  son,  a  very  small  boy,  boarded  a  train 
at  Little  Eock.  The  woman  had  a  care- 
worn expression  hanging  over  her  face 
like  a  tattered  veil,  and  many  of  the  rapid 
questions  asked  by  the  boy  were  answered 
by   unconscious    sighs. 

''Ma,"  said  the  boy,  ''that  man's  like 
a  baby,  ain't  he?"  pointing  to  the  bald- 
headed  man  sitting  just  in  frort  of  them. 

"Hush!" 

"Why    must    I   hush?" 

After  a  few  moments'  silence:  "Ma, 
what's  the  matter  with  that  man's  head?" 

"Hush,  I  tell  you.     He's  bald?" 

"What's  bald?" 


34. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


' '  His  head  hasn  't  got  any  hair  on  it. ' ' 

''Did  it  come  off?" 

''I   guess   so." 

''Will    mine    come    off?" 

' '  Some   time,  may  be. ' ' 

"Then  I'll  be  bald,  won't  T?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  care?" 

"Don't  ask  so   many  questions." 

After  another  silence,  the  boy  exclaim- 
ed: "Ma,  look  at  that  fly  on  that  man's 
head." 

"If  you  don't  hush,  I'll  whip  you  when 
we  get  home" 

"Look!  There's  another  fly.  Look  at 
'Cm  fight;   look  at    'em!" 

"Madam,"  said  the  man,  putting  aside 
a  newspaper  and  looking  around,  "what's 
the  matter  with  that  young  hyena?" 

The  woman  blushed  stammering  out 
something,  and  attempting  to  smooth  back 
the  boy 's  hair. 

"One  fly,  two  flies,  three  flies;"  said 
the  boy,  innocently,  following  with  his 
eyes  a  basket  of  oranges  carried  by  a 
newsboy. 

"Here,  young  hedgehog,"  said  th^  bald- 
headed  man,  ' '  if  you  don 't  hush,  I  '11  have 
the  conductor  put  you  off  the  train." 

The  poor  woman  not  knowing  what  else 
to  do,  boxed  the  boy's  ears,  and  then  gave 
him  an  orange  to  keep  him  from  crying. 

"Ma,  have  I  got  red  marks  on  my 
head?" 

"I'll  whip  you  again  if  you.  don't 
hush." 

"Mister,"  said  the  boy,  after  a  short 
silence,  "does  it  hurt  to  be  bald-headed?" 

"Youngster,"    said    the    man,    "if    you 
will  keep  quiet,  I'll  give  you  a  quarter." 
)  The   boy  promised   and  the   money   was 
paid  over.    The  man  took  up  his  paper  and 
resumed  his  reading. 

"This  is  my  bald-headed  money.  When 
I  get  bald-headedj  I'm  going  to  give  boys 


money.  Mister,  have  all  bald.headed  men 
got  money?" 

The  annoyed  man  threw  down  his  paper, 
arose,  and  exclaimed  ;  ' '  Madam,  hereafter 
when  you  travel,  leave  that  young  gorilla 
at  home.  Hitlierto,  I  always  thought  that 
the  old  prophet  was  very  cruel  for  calling 
the  bears  to  kill  the  children  for  making 
sport  of  his  head,  but  now  I  am  forced  to 
believe  that  he  did  a  Christian  act.  If 
your  boy  had  been  in  the  crowd,  he  would 
have  died  first.  If  I  can't  find  another 
seat  on  the  train,  1  '11  ride  on  the  cow- 
catcher rather  than  remain  here." 

' '  The  bald-headed  man  is  gone, ' '  said 
the  boy;  and  as  the  woman  leaned  back 
a  tired  sigh  escaped  her  lips. 


KITTY  WELLS. 

You  ask  what  makes  this  darkey  weep, 
Why  he  like  others  am  not  gay; 

What  makes  the  tear  flow  down  his  cheek 

'     From  early  morn  till  close  of  day. 

My  story,   darkies,  you  shall  hear. 

For  in  my  memory  fresh  it  dwells, 
'Twill  cause  you  all  to  drop  a  tear 
On  the  grave  of  my  sweet  Kitty  Wells. 

Chorus- — 

While  the  birds  were  singing  in  the  morn- 
ing. 
And    the    myrtle    and    the    ivy    were    in 
bloom. 
The  sun  on  the  hill  top  was  dawning, 
'Twas  then  we  laid  her  in  the  tomb. 


--*  >-> 


I  never  shall  forget  the  day 

When  we  together  roamed  the  dells; 
I  kissed  her  cheek  and  named  the  day 

That  I  would  marry  Kitty  Wells. 
But  death  came  in  my  cabin  door 

And  took  from  me  my  joy,  my  pride, 
And  when  I  found  she  was  no  more 

I  laid  my  banjo  down  and  cried.^ — Cho. 


*' Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.'^ 


35. 


I   ofttimes  wish   that  I  wer«   dead 

And  laid  beside  her  in  the  tomb; 
The  sorrow  that  bows  down  my  head 

Is  silent  in  the  midnight  gloom. 
The  springtime  has  no  charms  for  me, 

Tho '  flowers  are  blooming  in  the  dells, 
For  that  bright  form  I  do  not  see — 

The  form  of  my  sweet  Kitty  Wells. 


WAIT  TILL  THE  CLOUDS  ROLL  BY. 

Jennie  my  own  true  loved  ome, 

I  am  going  far  from  thee. 
Out  on  the  bounding  billows, 

Out    on    the    dark    blue    Sea. 

How  I  will  miss  you  my  darling, 

There  when  the  storm  is  raging  high, 

Jennie  my  own  true  loved  one; 
Wait  till  the  clouds  roll  by. 

Chorus — 

Waith  till  the  clouds  roll  by,  Jennie, 

Wait  till  the  clouds  roll  by, 
Jennie,  my  own  true  loved   one. 

Wait  till  the  clouds  roll  by. 

Jennie,  when  far  from  thee  love, 

I  am  on  the  Ocean  deep, 
Will  you  then   dream  of  me  love; 

Will  you,  your  promise  keep. — Cho. 

And  will  T  come  to  you  darling, 

Take  courage   dear  and  never  sigh; 

Gladness  will  follow   sorrow; 

Wait  till  the  clouds  roll  by. — Cho. 


There    where    this    old    darkey's    heart 
longs  to   go. 

There 's   where   I  labored   so   hard  for   old 
Massa, 

Lay    after    day    in    the    fields    of    yellow 


corn 


No    place    on    earth    do    I    love    more    sin- 
cerely 
Than  old  Virginia,  the  State  where  I  was 
born. 


Carry  me  back  to  old  Virginia, 

There's  where  the   cotton  and  the  corn 
and  taters  grow, 

Tiiere's  where  the  biid;:  warble  svTeo!;ly  in 
the  spring  time. 
There 's   where    this    old    darkey 's   heart 
longs  to  go. 

Carry  me  back  to  old  Virginia, 

There  let  me  live  till  I  wither  and  decay, 
Long   by   the    old   Dismal    Swamp    have   I 
wandered. 
There's  where  this  old  darkey's  life  will 
pass  away, 
Massa   and  Missus  have  long  gone  before 
me. 
Soon  we'll  meet  on  that  bright  and  gold- 
en shore, 
There   we'll   be   happy   and   free   from   all 
sorrow,' 
There 's  where  we  '11  meet  and  we  '11  part 
never  more. 

Chorus — 


CARRY  ME  BACK  TO   OLD  VIRGINIA. 

Carry  me  back  to  old  Virginia, 

There 's  where  the   cotton    and   the   corn 

and  taters  grow, 
There's  where  the  birds  warble  sweetly  in 

the  springtime, 


Den  carry  me  back  to  old  Virginia, 

There's  where  de  cotton  and  de  corn  and 
taters   grow, 
Dar's  whar  de  birds  warble  sweetly  in  de- 
spring  time, 
Dar's  wiiar  dis  darkey's  heart  am  long'd' 
to   go. 


36. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


ONLY  BEEN  DOWN  TO  THE  CLUB. 

X/ast  night  I  was  out  rather  late, 

'Twas  only  an  innocent  spree, 
My  wife  for  my  coming  did  wait, 

When  sleeping  I  thought  she  would  be. 
I  found  her  in  temper  and  tears, 
^'O,"  she  cried,  ''It's  a  sin  and  a  shame," 
And  she  scratched  both  my  eyes  and  ears, 
But  I  told  her  I  soon  would  explain. 

Chorus — 

The  club   had  a  meeting  tonight,  love. 
Of  business  we  had  a  great  sight,  love. 
Don't  think  for  a  moment  I'm  tight,  love, 
I've  only  been  down  to  the  club.  * 

My  boots  I  left  down  in  the  hall, 

And  softly  I  crept  up  to  the  stairs, 
I  kept  rather  close  to  the  wall, 

And  thought  to  ascend  unawares. 
But  just  as  I  got  to  the  door, 

I  seemed  to  get  lost  in  the  dark, 
I  stumbled  and  fell  on  the  floor, 

And   just  then  I   could  only  remark, 
The  club  had  a  meeting,  etc. 

She  sobbed,  she  wept,  and  she  screamed, 

And  said  she  'd  go  back  to  her  ma. 
While  I  on  the  mantle-piece  leaned. 

And  tried  to  enjoy  my  cigar. 
I  promised  to  buy  her  a  dress, 

If  she'd  let  me  alone  for  awhile. 
Then  I  gave  her  a  sweet  little  kiss. 

And  I  saw  her  beginning  to  smile. 
The  club  had  a  meeting,  etc. 


HOSA  OGRADY. 

Just  down  around  the  corner 

Of  the   street  where  I  reside 
There  lives  the  cutest  little  girl 

That  I  have  ever  spied. 
Her  name  is  Eosa  Ogrady 

And  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
That  she 's  the  sweetest  little  rose 

The  garden  ever  grew. 


Chorus-^ 

Sweet  Eosa  Ogrady  my  dear  little  rose, 

She's    my    steady    lady    most    every    one 

knows, 
And  when  we  are  married  how  happy  we  '11 

be. 
For  I  love  sweet  Eosa  Ogrady   and  Eosa 

Ogrady  loves  me. 

I  never  shall  forget  the  day 

She  promised  to  be  mine 
As  we   sat   telling  loves  tales  in 

The  golden"  summer  time 
When  on  her  finger  that  I  placed 

A  small  engagement  ring 
While  in  the  trees  the  little  bird 

Did  come  there  seem  to  sing. 

Chorus — 

Sweet  Eosa  Ogrady  my  dear  little  rose 
Shes  my  steady  lady  most  everyone  knows, 
And  when  we  are  married  how  happy  we'll 

be 
For  I  love  sweet  Eosa  Ogrady   and  Eosa 

Ogrady  loves  me. 


I'SE  GWINE  BACK  TO  DIXIE. 

I'sd   gwine   back   to    Dixie,   no    more    I'se 

gwine  to  wander, 
My  heart's  turned  back  to  Dixie,  I  can't 

stay  here  no  longer. 
I  miss  de  old  plantation,  my  home  and  my 

relation, 
My   heart's   turned  back   to   Dixie,   and  I 

must  go. 

Chorus — 

I'se  gwine  back  to  Dixie,  I'se  gwine  back 

to  Dixie; 
I'se  gwine  where  de  orange  blossoms  grow. 
For  I  hear  the  children  calling,  I  see  their 

sad  tears  falling", 
My    heart 's    turned    back   to    Dixie    and   I 

must  go. 


'^Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.' 


37. 


I've  hoed  in  fields  of  cotton,  I've  worked 

upon  the  river, 
I  used  to  think  if  I  got  off  I'd  go  back 

there   no   never, 
But  time  has  changed  de  old  man,  his  head 

is  bending  low, 
His  heart's  turned  back  to  Dixie,  and  he 

must    go. — Chorus. 

I'm  travelling  back  to  Dixie,  my  step  is 

slow  and  feeble, 
I  pray  de  Lord  to   help  me,  and  lead  me 

from  all  evil. 
And  should   my  strength  forsake  me,   den 

come  kind  friends  and  take  me. 
My   heart's   turned   back   to   Dixie,   and  I 

must   go. — Chorus. 


BOYS  KEEP  AWAY  FROM  THE  GIRLS. 

Oh!  love  is  such  a  very  funny  thing. 

And  catches  the  young  and  old. 
It's     just  like  a     plate  of    boarding-house 
hash. 

And  many  a  nian  it  has  sold. 
It  makes  you  feel  like  a  fresh  water  eel. 

And  causes  your  head  to  swell; 
You  lose  your  mind,  for  love  is  blind, 

And  it  empties  your  pocket-book  as  well. 

Chorus — 

Boys  keep  away  from  the  girls,  I  say. 

Give  them  lots  of  room, 
Or  you'll  find  when  you  are  wed, 
They'll  bang  you  on  the  head 

With  the  bald-headed  end  of  a  broom. 

When  a  man  is  gone  on  a  pretty  little  girl, 

He  talks  just  as  gentle  as  a  dove; 
He  spends  all  his  money,  and  he  calls  her 
his  honey. 
For  to  show  her  he  is  solid  on  his  love. 
When  his  money  is  gone,  and  his  clothes 
in  hock, 
He  finds  the  old  saying  it  is  true. 
That  a  mole  on  the  arm  is  worth  two  on 
the    leg. 
But  what  is  he  going  to  do. — Chorus. 


When  married  folks  have  lots  of  cash, 

Their  love  is  firm  and  strong. 
But  when  they  have  to  feed  on  hash, 

Their  love  don't  last  so  long. 
With    a    wife    and    seventeen    half-starved 
kids, 

I  tell  you  it 's  no  fun 
When  the  butcher  comes  around  to  collect 
his  bill 

With  a  dog  and  a  double  barrel  gun. 

Young  fellows  just  take  my  advice 

Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  wed. 
You  think  you're  in  clover  till  the  honey- 
moon is  over, 
And  then  you'll  think  you're  dead. 
With  a  cross-eyed  baby  on  each  knee 

And  a  wife  with  a  plaster  on  her  nose, 
You'll  find   true   love    don't   run   so   very- 
smooth 
When    you    have    to    wear    second-hand 
clothes. 

2nd  Chorus — 

When  your  rent  is  high  and  your  kids  be- 
gin to  cry 

Because  there's  no  grub  to  chaw. 
You  will  holler  for  your  son 
To  load  up  your  gun 

While  you  vaccinate  your  mother-in-law. 


BURLESQUE  ON  PROFESSIONAL  MEN. 

Come  all  je  people  of  every  kind, 
I  will  sing  you  a  song  concerning  the  times, 
One  and  all  think  they  are  bright. 
They   cheat   their  neighbors   and  say  that 
it  is  right, 

And  it 's  hard  times. 

There  is  the  old  farmer,  he  will  plow  up 

his  ground, 
He  will  put  part  in  cotton  and  the  other 
in  corn. 


38. 


( ( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


He  will  tip  up  Ms  stilliards  to  make  them 

weigh    down, 
And  swear  it^s  good  weight  if  it  lacks  ten 

pounds. 

And    it 's    hard    times. 

Here  is  the  old  overseer,  we  must  not  for. 
•        get, 

He  makes  his  wages  by  using  his  whip, 
He  pushes  his  hands  by  night  and  by  day, 
And  when  the  year  is  gone  they  have  run 
away. 

And  its  hard  times. 

Here   is   the   old   blacksmith,   he   will   and 
he   will   blow. 

He  will  make  you  a  plow  and  also  a  hoe. 

He     says  he'll  make     them  for  half     the 
amount, 

And  when  it  is  done  he'll  double  the  ac- 
count. 

And  it's  hard  times. 

Here  is  the  old  doctor,  I'd  like  to  forgot, 
I  believe   to   my  soul   he   is   the   worst   of 

the  lot; 
He    says    he    will    cure    you   for    half   you 

possess. 
And  when  you  are  dead  he  will  take  all 

the  rest. 

And  it  is  hard  times. 

Here  is  the   old  tailor,  he  will   cut  vou  a 

dress. 
He  will  cut  you  a  coat  and  also  a  vest, 
He  says  he  will  cut  them  for  five  dollars 

perhaps. 
And  when  it  is  done  he  will  cabbage  the 

scraps. 

And  it's  hard  times. 

Here  is  the  old  preacher,  he  will  preach  for 

a  bowl, 
He   will   preach   for   your   money    and   not 

for  your  soul, 
He  rides  round  his  circuit  twelve  times  a 

year. 
And  if  you  are  lost  I'm  sure  he  don't  care. 
And  it's  hard  times. 


Here  is  the  lawyer,  he  says  he  -will  bring 

you  out  clear. 
He   will   get    up    and   speak,   tell   lies    and 

swear. 
And    if    you    are    hung    for    eating    some 

honey, 
I   am    sure    he    don't    care   if    he    gets   his 

money. 

And  it's  hard  times. 

Here   are   the   young   men,   they   would   if 

they  could. 
They   want    to    marry   girls,    and    could   if 

they  would. 
With  old  red  shoes  and  an  old  sack  coat. 
And  hair  on  their  chins  like  a  Billy  goat, 
And  it's  hard  times. 

Here   are   the   young  girls,   they  would   if 
they  could. 

They  want   to   marry  boys,   and  would  if 
they  could. 

They  will  comb  back  their  hair  and  pow- 
der their  face, 

And  hide  their  pipes  in  a  secret  place. 
And  it's  hard  times. 

Here  are  the  old  widowers  in  our  neigh- 
borhood, / 

They   want   to   marry  girls,  and  would  if 
they  could. 

They  will  comb  back  their  hair,  brush  up 
their  shoes. 

And  lay   down   the   canes   they   commonly 
use. 

And  it's  hard  times. 


TAKE  BACK  YOUR  GOLD. 

I  saw  a  youth  and  maiden 
On  a  lonely   city  street. 
And   thought   them   lovers   at   their   meet- 
ing place 
Until,  as  I  drew  near,  I  heard  the  girl's 
sad  voice  entreat. 


'^Gleanings  from  the  Gullies 


' ) 


39. 


The  one  who  heeded  not  her  tear  stained 

face. 
I   only    ask   you,   Jack,   to    do   your    duty, 

that  is  all, 
You  know  you  promised  that  we  should 

be  wed. 
And    when    he    said,    you    shall    not    want 

whatever  may  befall 
She  spurned  the  gold  he  offered  her  and 

said — 

Ohorus — 

Take  back  your  gold  for   gold  can  never 
buy  me, 
Take  back  your  bride  and  promise  you'll 
be  true, 
Give  me  the  love,  the  love  that  you  deny 
me. 
Make  me  your  wife,  that's  all  I  ask  of 
you. 

He  drew  her  closer  to  him  and  to  soothe 
her  then  he  tried. 
But    she    in    pride    and    sorrow    turned 
away. 
And  as  he  sought  to  comfort  her  she  wept 
and   softly   sighed, 
You'll  see  your  cruel  action,  Jack,  some 
day. 
Now    little    one,    don't    cry,    he    said,    for 
though   tonight   we   part. 
And    though    another    soon    will    be    my 
bride, 
This  gold  will  help  me,  to  forget,  but  with 
a  breaking  heart. 
She  spurned  the  gold  he  offered  her  and 
said — 

Take  back  your   !,^oid,  for  gold  can  never 
buy  me, 
Take  back  your  bride  and  promise  you  '11 
be  true, 
Give  me  the  love,  the  love  that  you  denv 
me. 
Make  me  your  wife,  that's  all  I  ask  of 
you. 


DOWN  BY  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  ROSA. 

If  I  ever  get  married,  I'll  marry  in  June, 
While   the   fields   and   meadows  are   all  in 

their   bloom, 
And  I  spied  my  true  love  by  the  light  of 

the  moon, 
Down  by  the  banks  of  the  Eosa. 

'Her    neck    and    her    breast,    'twas    almost 

bare. 
As  white  as  a  lilly  to  compare. 
And  the  dew  was  falling  fast  on  her  curly 

locks  of  hair. 
Like  rain  a  falling  in  the  summer. 

Says   she,   ^'My   dearest   Willie,   don't   de- 
tain me  long  here. 

For  my  papa  and  my  mama,  they  are  se- 
vere. 

And    if    they    were    to    banish    their    only 
daughter,  dear. 
Where  would  I  go  for  harbor?" 

Your  papa  and  your  mama,  perhaps  they 

would  say. 
That  I  am  a  drunkard,  or  some  runaway. 
And  they'd  rather  their  daughter  wouldn't 

live  another  day 
Than  a  rake  like  I  should  have  her. 

In  country  or  in  town  or  whereever  I  am 

known, 
I  can   drink  a  glass   of  brandy   or  let  it 

alone. 
And  as  for  their  pretty  daughter  they  may 
keep  her  at  home. 
And  I'll  go  and  court  some  other. 

Oh!  yes  you  can  leave  me,  I  know  it  very 

true. 
But  there '  no  man  on  earth  I  fancy  but 

you. 
And  I  never  will  exchange  the  old  for  the 

new — 
My  love  if  you  will  but  believe  me. 


40. 


i  ( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There. 


}y 


So    come,   my    dearest    one,    and   go    along 

with  me. — 
Your  papa   and  your  mama  will   soon   set 

you  free, 
And     I'll  fold  you  in     my  arms   and     so 

happy  we  will  be, 
Down  by  the  Banks  of  the  Eosa. 


TWO  LITTLE  GIRLS  IN  BLUE. 

An  old  man  gazed  on  a  photograph  in  the 

locket  he'd  worn  for  years. 
His  nephew  then  asked  him  the  reason  why 

that  picture  had  caused  him  tears; 
Come,  listen,  he  said,  I  will  tell  you,  lad,  a 

story  that's  strange  but  true — 
Your  father  and  I  at  school  one  day  met 

two  little  girls  in  blue. 

Eefrain — 

Two  little  girls  in  blue,  lad,  two  little  girls 

in  blue; 
They  were  sisters,  we  were  brothers,  and 

learned  to  love  the  two; 
And  one  little  girl  in  blue,  lad,  who  won 

your  father's  heart. 
Became  your  mother;  I  married  the  other, 

but  we  have  drifted  apart. 

That  picture  is  one  of  those  girls,  he  said, 

and  to  me  she  was  once  a  wife; 
I    thought    her    unfaithful,    we    quarreled, 

lad,  and  parted  that  night  for  life; 
My  fancy  of  jealousy  wronged  a  heart,  a 

heart  that  was  good  and  true. 
For  two  better  girls  never  lived  than  they, 

those  two  little  girls  in  blue. 

Eefrain — 

Two    little    girls    in    blue,    lad,    two    little 

girls  in  blue; 
They  were  sisters,  we  were  brothers,  and 

learned  to  love  the  two; 
And  one  little  girl  in  blue,  lad,  who  won 

your  father  *s  heart. 
Became  your  mother;  I  married  the  other, 

but  we  have  drifted  apart. 


AFTEE  THE  BALL. 

A  little  maiden  climbed  on  an  old  man's 

knee, 
Begged  for  a  story,  do  uncle  please; 
Why  are  you  single?     Why  live  alone? 
Have  you  no  babies?     Have  you  no  home? 
I  had  a  sweetheart  long  years  ago; 
Where    she    is    now,    pet,    you    soon    shall 

know. 
List  to  the  story,  I'll  tell  it  all, 
I  believed  her  faithless  after  the  ball. 


Chorus — 

After  the  ball  is  over,  after  the  break  of 

morn ; 
After  the  dancers  leaving,  after  the  stars 

are  gone; 
Many  a  heart  is  aching,  if  you  could  read 

them  all; 
Many  the  hopes  that  have  vanished,  after 

the  ball. 


Bright  lights  were   flashing  in   the   grand 

ball  room. 
Softly  the  music,  playing  sweet  tunes, 
There  came   my  sweetheart,   my  love,  my 

own — 
I  wished  some  water,  leave  me  alone. 
When  I  returned,  dear,  there  stood  a  man 
Kissing  my  sweetheart,  as  lovers  can. 
Down  fell  the  glass,  pet,  broken,  that's  all. 
Just  as  my  heart  was  after  the  ball. 

Long  years  have  passed,  child,  I've  never 

wed; 
True  to  my  lost  love,  though  she  is  dead. 
She  tried  to  tell  me,  tried  to  explain; 
I  would  not  listen,  pleadings  were  vain, 
One  day  a  letter  came  from  that  man — 
He  was  her  brother — the  letter  ran. 
That's  why  I'm  lonely,  no  home  at  all; 
I  broke  her  heart,  pet,  after  the  ball. 


^^  Gleanings  from  the  Gullies 


f> 


41. 


DRIED  APPLE  PIES. 

J  loathe,  abhor,  detest,  despise, 
Abominate   dried   apple  pies. 
I  like  good  bread,  I  like  good  meat, 
Or  anything  that's  good  to  eat; 
But  of  all  poor  grub  beneath  the  skies 
The  poorest  is  dried  apple  pies. 
The  farmer  takes  his  gnarliest  fruit 
'Tis  wormy,  bitter,  and  hard,  to  boot; 
They  leave  the  hulls  to  make  us  cough, 
And  don't  take  half  the  peeling  off. 
Then  on  a  dirty  cord   'tis  strung. 
And  in  a  garret  window  hung; 
And  there  it  serves  a  roost  for  flies, 
Until  it's  made  up  into  pies. 
Tread  on  my  corns  and  tell  me  lies. 
But  don't  pass  me  dried  apple  pies. 


FIFTY  YEARS  AGO. 

I  wish  to  put  my  thoughts  in  verse. 
And  briefly,  too,  will  them  rehearse; 
For  times  and  people  are  changing  fast; 
They  are  not  now  as  in  times  past. 

Forty  or  fifty  years  ago  the  young 
Were  not  so  glib  upon  the  tongue. 
For  if  they  wished  to  grow  up  wise 
The  older  ones  would  them  advise. 

The  boys  in  those  good  old  days 
Were  not  allowed  to  have  their  ways, 
To  carry  pistols  and  a  whiskey  jug. 
Nor  drink  lager  beer  from   a  large   glass 

mug. 
Nor  go  off  on  an  excursion  train 
And  not  say  when  they'd  return  again; 
But  you  could  see  those  boys  every  night 
Seat_ed  by  the  fireplace  bright. 

Listening  to  father  and  mother's  advice, 
And  learning  how  to  do  work  nice 
Upon  the  farm  and  in  the  shop. 
And  how  the  cattle  and  hogs  to  slop. 


The  girls  those  days  were  raised  up  right; 
They  were  not  drawn  with  corsets  tight. 
Didn't  wear  slouch  hats  and  hamburg  lace, 
And  powder  smeared  all  over  the  face. 

The  girls  these  days  would  call  them  rough, 
For    they    didn't    dip    ashes    and    Ralph ^s 

Strong  Snuff, 
They  wore  their  dresses  neat  and  plain 
And  never  had  an  ache  or  pain. 

Their  hair  in  ringlets  it  did  hang, 
Combed  nice  and  neat,  but  not  a  bang 
Was  seen  to  hide  their  lovely  face, 
But  they  were  raised  up  with  some  grace. 

But    what   has     happened,   friends,     since 

then? 
Ten  year  old  boys  now  think  themselves 

men. 
They  smoke  and  drink,  themsleves  abuse, 
Wear  stove  pipe  hats  and  six  dollar  shoes. 

They  ride  bicycles,  wear  cutaway  coats. 

With  false  beard  on  the  chin  like  billy 
goats; 

With  a  celluloid  collar  and  a  gold  breast- 
pin, 

A  $20  overcoat  from  his  ankles  to  his  chin. 

The  girls  o^  today  are  changing,  too. 

In   all   fashions   and   shapes,   banged   hair 

and  tight  shoes, 
With   rings   on   their  fingers    and   bobs  in 

their  ears, 
Reading  novels  and  foolishness  to  banish 

their  fears. 


FIFTY  CENTS. 

You  ought  to  see  the-  little  girl  I  took  to 

the  fancy  ball, 
^I'fn  around  her  little  waJr-t  so  neat  and 

very  small, 
I  thought  two   oysters,   sure,   her  appetite 

would  sate, 
Said  she  wasn't  hungry  at  all,  but  this  is 

what  she  ate: 


42. 


a 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


Dozen    of    raw,   plate    of    slaw,,  fancy 

Boston  roast, 
Big   box    stew,    some    crackers    too,    a 

soft  shell  crab  on  toast; 
Next  she  tried  some  oysters  fried,  her 

appetite  was  immense, 
She  asked  for  pie,  I  thought  IM  die, 

for  I  had  but  fifty  cents. 

After    eating   all   this   she   smiled   so   very 

sweet. 
She    said    she    wasn  't    hungry    a    bit,    she 

wished  that  she  could  eat; 
But  the  very  next  order  that  she  gave  my 

heart  within  me  sank. 
She    said   she   wasn't   thirsty,    but   this    is 

what  she  drank: 

Brandy  and  gum,  big  hot  rum,  schoon- 
er of  lager  beer. 

Some  whiskey  skins,  couple  of  gins  did 
quickly   disappear. 

Bottle  of  ale  and  soda  cocktail,  aston-    , 
ished  all  the  gents, 

She  called  for  more,  I  feel  on  the  floor 
for  I  had  but  fifty  cents. 

• 

To  finish  up  this  delicate  girl  cleaned  out 

an  ice    cream   can, 
And     said,   ''Now   Sam,     I'll  tell     mama 

yoil're  such  a  nice  young  man;" 
Said  she'd  bring  her  sister  along  next  time 

she  came,  for  fun. 
I  handed  the  man  the  fifty  cents,  and  this 

is  what  he  done: 

Broke     my     nose,     tore     my     clothes, 

knocked  me  out   of  breath, 
I  took  the  prize  for  two  black  eyes,  he 

kicked  me  most  to  death; 
At   every   chance   he   made   me   dance, 

and  fired  me  o'er  the  fence, 
Take   my   advice,    don't   try   it    twice, 

when  you  have  but  fifty  cents. 


THE  FACE  ON  THE  FLOOR. 

'Twas    a    balmy    summer    evening,    and    a 

goodly  crowd  was  there 
That    well    nigh    filled   Joe's    bar-room    on 

the  corner  of  the  square, 
And    as     songs    and    witty     stories     came 

through  the  open  door; 
A    vagabond    crept    slowly    in    and    posed 

upon  the  floor. 

''Where    did    it    come    from?"    some    one 

said;  "the  wind  has  blown  it  in." 
''What     does  it  want,"     another     cried, 

"some   whiskey,   beer    or   gin?" 
"Here,  Toby,  seek  him,  if  your  stomach's 

equal  to  the  work, 
I  wouldn't  touch  him  with  a  fork,  he's  as 

filthy  as  a  Turk" 

This  badinage  the  poor  wretch  took  with 

stoical  good  grace, 
In  fact,  he  smiled  as  if  he  thought  he'd 

struck  the  proper  place; 
' '  Come,  boys,  I  know  there 's  kindly  hearts 

among  so  good  a  crowd; 
To    be    in    such    company    would    make    a 

deacon  proud." 

"Give  me  a  drink!     That's  what  I  want, 

I'm  out  of  funds,  you  know. 
When  I  had  a  cash  to  treat  the  gang,  this 

hand  was  never  slow"; 
What?  You  laugh   as  if  you  thought  this 

pocket  never  held  a  sou; 
I  once  was  fixed  as  well,  my  boys,  as  any 

one  of  you. 

"There,  thanks,     that  braced  me     nicely, 

God  bless  you,  one  and  all, 
Next    time    T    pass    this    good    saloon    I'll 

make   another   call; 
Give  you  a  song?    No,  I  can't  do  that,  my 

singing  days   are  past, 
My  voice  is  cracked,  my  throat 's  worn  out, 

and   my  lungs   are   going  fast. 


( ( 


Gleanings  from   the  Gidlies." 


43. 


^'Bay,  give   me  another  whiskey,   and 'I '11       '^Why  don't  you  laugh?      'Tis  funny  that 


tell  you  what  I'll  do — 
I'll  tell  you  a  funny  story,  and  a  fact,  I 

promise,  too; 
That  I  was  ever  a  decent  man,  not  one  of 

you  would  think, 
But  I  was,  some  four  or  five  years  back, 

say,  give  us  another  drink. 


the  vagabond  you  see 
Could  ever  love  a  woman  and  expect  her 

love   for   me; 
But   'twas  so,  and  for  a  month  or  two  her 

smile  was  freely  given; 
And  when  her  loving  lips  touched  mine,  it 

carried    me    to    heaven. 


*^Fiil  her  up,  Joe,  I  want  to  put  some  life 

into  my  frame — 
Such   little   drinks   to    a   bum   like   me   are 

miserably  tame; 
Five    fingers — there,    that's    the    scheme — 

and  corking  whiskey,  too. 
Well,  boys,  here 's  luck,  and  landlord,  my 

best  regards  to  you. 


''Boys,  did  you  ever  see  a  girl  for  whom 
your   soul   you  'd   give. 

With  a  form  like  Milo  Venus,  too  beauti- 
ful to  live, 

With  eyes  that  would  beat  the  Kohinoor 
and  a  wealth  of  chestnut  hair? 

If  so,  'twas  she,  for  there  never  was  an- 
other half  so  fair. 


"^'You've  treated  me  pretty  kindly  and  I'd 
like  to  tell  you  how 

I  came  to  be  the  dirty  sot  you  see  before 
you  now; 

As  I  told  you,  once  I  was  a  man,  with  mus- 
cle, frame  and  health. 

And,  but  for  a  blunder,  ought  to  have 
made    considerable   wealth. 


''I  was  working  on  a  portrait  one  after- 
noon   in    May, 

Of  a  fair-haired  boy,  a  friend  of  mine,  who 
lived  across  the  way. 

And  Madeline  admired  it,  and  much  to  my 
surprise, 

Said  that  she'd  like  to  know  the  man  that 
had  such   dreamy  eyes. 


*'I  was  a  painter — not  one  that  daubed 
bricks  and  wood. 

But  an  artist,  and  for  my  age,  was  rated 
pretty  good; 

I  worked  hard  at  my  canvas,  and  was  bid- 
ding fair  to  rise; 

For  gradually  I  saw  the  star  of  fame  be- 
fore my  eyes. 

''I  made  a  picture,  perhaps  you've   seen, 

'tis  called  the  Chase  of  Fame; 
It  brought  me  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  and 

added  to  my  name; 
And  then  I  met  a  woman — now  comes  the 

funny  part — 
With  eyes  that     petrified  my  brain,     and 

sunk  into  my  heart. 


"It    didn't   take   long   to   know    him,   and 

before   the   month  had  flown. 
My  friend  had  stole  my  darling,  and  I  was 

left  alone; 
And  ere  a  year  of  misery  had  passed  above 

my  head. 
The  jewel  I  had  treasured  so  had  tarnished 

and  was  dead. 

"That's  why  I  took  to  drink,  boys.     Why 

I  never  saw  you  smile, 
I  thought  you'd  be  amused  and  laughing 

all  the  while; 
Why,  what's  the  matter,  friend?     There's 

a  tear-drop  in  your  eye. 
Come,  laugh  like  me,    'tis  only  babes  and 

women  that  should  cry. 


44. 


i( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


''Say,     boys,  if  you'll     give  me     another 
whiskey,  I'll  be  glad, 

And  I'll  draw  right   here,   the  picture   of 
the  face  that  drove  me  mad; 

Give  me  that  piece  of  chalk  with  which  you 
mark   the   baseball  score — ' 

And    you    shall    see    the    lovely    Madeline 
upon  the  bar_room  floor." 


Another  drink,  and  with  chalk  in  hand,  the 
vagabond  began 

To  sketch  a  face  that  well  might  buy  the 
soul  of  any  man. 

Then,  as  he  placed  another  lock  upon  the 
shapely  head. 

With  a  fearful  shriek  he  leaped  and  fell 
across  the  picture — dead. 

— H.  ANTOINE  D'AECY. 


THE   WASHERWOMAN'S    SONG. 

In    a   very   humble    cot. 
In  a  rather   quiet  spot. 
In   the   suds   and  in   the   soap 
Worked  a  woman  full  of  hope; 
Working,  singing,  all  alone. 
In  a  sort  of  undertone: 
'^With  a  Saviour  for  a  friend. 
He  will  keep  me  to  the  end." 


Not  in  sorrow  nor  in  glee, 
Working  all  day  long  was  she. 
As  her  children,  three  or  four, 

P.'ayed  around  her  on  the  floor; 
But  in  monotones  the  song. 
She  was  humming  all  day  long, 
''With  the  Saviour  for  a  friend, 
He  will  keep  me  to  the  end. ' ' 

It's  a  song  I  do  not  sing, 
Tor  I  scarce  believe  a  thing 
Of  the  stories  that  are  told 
Of  the  miracles  of  old; 
But  I  know  that  her  belief 
Is  the  anodyne  of  grief 
And  will  always  be  a  friend 
That  will  keep  her  to  the  end. 

J"u?t  a  trifle  lonesome  she, 
Just  as  poor  as  poor  could  be; 
But  her  spirits  always  rose 
Like  the  bubbles  in  the  clothes. 
And,  though  widowed  and  alone. 
Cheered  her  with  the  monotone 
Of  a  Saviour  and  a  friend 
Who  would  keep  her  to  the  end. 

I  have  seen  her  rub  and  scrub 
On  the  washboard  in  the  tub. 
While  the  baby  sopped  in  suds, 
Rolled  and  tumbled  in  the  duds. 
Or  was  paddling  in  the  pools 
With  old  scissors  stuck  in  spools, 
She  still  humming  of  her  friend 
Who  would  keep  her  to  the  end. 


Sometimes,   happening    along, 
I  had  heard  the  semi-song, 
And  I  often  used  to  smile. 
More  in   sympathy  than  guile; 
But  I  never  said  a  word 
In  regard  to  what  I  heard. 
As  she  sang  about  her  friend 
Who  would  keep  her  to  the  end. 


Human  hopes  and  human  creeds 
Have  their  root  in  human  needs; 
And  I  would  not  wish  to  strip 
From  that  washerwoman's  lip 
Any  song  that  she  can  sing, 
Any  hope  that  song  can  bring; 
For  the  woman  has  a  friend 
Who  will  keep  her  to  the  end. 


i( 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.' 


45. 


A  MIRAGE. 

By  An  Unknown  Writer. 

Sometimes  I  dream. 

I  see  a  waving  field  beneath  a  blue  sky, 
^an  orchard,  a  garden,  a  nestling  cottage — 
my  home. 

I  love  a  woman,  beautiful,  clear-eyed, 
straight-limbed,  dauntless.  My  bride.  My 
mate 

About  are  children.  The  music  of  their 
play  mingles  with  the  gentle  breeze. 
There  are  two  or  three —  no,  four  or  five, 
perhaps  six.  They  look  like  me;  they  look 
like  her.  They  call  me  father.  They  do 
not  fear  me.  They  do  not  obey  me.  They 
love   me   and  seek  my   counsel. 

I  tickle  the  soil,  and  it  laughs  a  golden 
harvest.  I  plow,  I  reap,  I  chop,  I  make 
things.     I  work  and  get  honest  pay. 

My  neighbor  is  honest  He  is  truthful. 
He  is  not  a  parasite.  He  also  works.  He 
also  smiles.  He  does  not  wheedle  his  liv- 
from  man,  woman  or  child. 

I  pay  no  taxes,  no  tribute  to  a  lying, 
hypocritical,  grafting  Government.  Men 
have  learned  to  trust  their  fellows. 

I  grow  old.  She  grows  old.  My  boys 
are  stronger,  wiser,  nobler  than  I  My 
girls  are  as  tender,  as  true,  as  beautiful  as 
she. 

We  have  achieved  success;  nature's  trust 
is  fulfilled. 

The  chill  of  the  grave  is  creeping  o'er 
n.p  '  The  ele-ments  of  individuality  are 
about  to  dissemble.  I  look  into  her  eyes. 
She  is  satisfied.    ■!  am  satisfied. 

The  glittering  irysteries  of  the  heavens 
do  not  perplex  :ne.  I  know  not  and  care 
not. 

I  am  to  die.  I  am  not  afraid,  for  I  have 
guessed  the  riddle  of  the  ages;  the  secret 
is  mine;  my  children  live.  They  are  I; 
they  'are  she.  \ 


Forward  we  go  in  them,  climbing  poster- 
ity's ladder  of  evolution  until  in  the  cycle 
of  the  centuries  she  and  I  may  meet,  clasp 
hands  with  the  old  magic  thrill  and  then 
will  come  memory;  and  then  we  will  know 
we  have  reached  the  perfect  land,  the 
Seventh  Heaven,  Its  geographical  name 
may  be  Chicago.  That  whisp  of  fancy, 
that  phantom  of  the  cloister,  will  then  be 
reality. 

I  am  dying,  I  care  not,  for  I  have  lived. 
My  link  in  nature's  chain  is  welded. 

No  priest  supplicates  the  unknown;  'tis 
needless.  Sinking  into  the  nothing  from 
which  I  sprang,  I  leave  grim  Hades  in  the 
scrap  heap  of  existence. 

I  die.  I  live — many-fold.  I  mingle  with 
the  trees,  the  flowers,  the  cloud,  the  rock,, 
the  ocean. 

My   soul   goes   marching    on. 


A  VOICE  FROM  THE  POORHOUSE. 

A  Temperance  Recitation 

''My  dear  friends,"  said  the  doctor, 

''I  favor  license  for  selling  of  rum. 
These  fanatics  tell  us  with  horror 

Of  the  mischief  liquor  has  done. 
I  say,  as  a  man  and  physician, 

The  system's  requirements  are  such, 
That  unless  we  at  times  assist  nature 

The  bodv  and  mind  suffer  much. 


''  'Tis  a  blessing  when  worn  out  and  weary 

A  moderate  drink  now  and  then." 
From  the  minister  by  the  pulpit 

Came  an  audible  murmur:   ^'Amen! 
'Tis  true  that  many  have  fallen. 

Become  filthy   drunkards   and  worse — 
Harmed  others.     No,  I  don't  uphold  them, 

They  made  their  blessing  a  curse. 


46. 


'^ Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


"Should  we  be  denied  for  their  sinning? 

Should  the  weak  ones  govern  the  race? 
Why,  every  ^ood  thing  God  has  given 

Is  only  a  curse  out   of  place. 
'Tis  only  excess  that  destroys  us, 

A  little  is  good  now  and  then." 
From  the  white-haired,  pious  old  deacon 
Came  a  fervent,  loud-spoken.  ''Amen!" 

A  murmur  rose  up  from  the  people. 

From  the  midst  of  that  listening  throng. 
They  had  come  from  their  homes 

With  the  purpose  to  crush  out  and  tram- 
,      pie  out  wrong. 
But  their  time_honored,  worthy  physician, 

Grown  portly   in  person   and  purse. 
Had  shown  in  the  demon  of  darkness 

A  blessing  instead  of  a  curse. 

And  now  they  were  eager,  impatient 

To  vote  when  the  moment  should  come. 
They  thought  it  their  right  and  duty 

To  license  the  selling  of  rum. 
Then  up  from  a  seat  in  the  corner. 

From  the  midst  of  that  listening  throng 
Who   had   come   from   their   homes   with    a 
purpose 

To  crush  out  and  trample  out  wrong, 

Rose  a  woman;  her  thin  hands  uplifted 

And  from  out  her  frost-covered  hair 
Gazed  a  face  of  such  agonized  whiteness, 

A  face  of  such  utter  despair. 
The  vast  throng  grew  hushed  in  a  moment 

Were  silent  with^  terror  and  dread. 
They  gazed  on  the  face  of  that  woman 

As  we  gaze  on  the  face  of  the  dead. 
Then  the  hush  and  the  silence  were  broken, 

A  voice  so  shrill  and  so  clear 
Rang  out  through  the  room:   "Look  uj)on 

me. 
You    wonder    what    chance    brought    me 

here. 


You  know  me  and  now  you  shall  hear  me. 

I  speak  to  you  lovers  of  wine; 
For  once  I  was  young,  rich  and  handsome. 

Home,  husband  and  children  were  mine. 

Where   are    they?     I   ask   you,   where    are 
they? 
False  teacher   of   God's   holy   word, 
My  husband,  my  kind,  loving  husband. 

Whom  my  pray&rs   and  my  tears   might 

have  stirred. 
Remembered  your  teachings,  turned  from 

me 
Me  kneeling  and  pleading  with  him. 

'Twas  a  God-given  blessing,  you  told  him, 
And  only  excess  was  sin. 

''And  where   are   my  boys?     God  forgive 
you, 
They  heeded  your  counsel,  not  mine. 

You,  doctor,  beloved  and  respected, 
Could  see  no  danger  in  wine 

For  my  boys  so  proud  and  so  manly. 

How  could  I  hope  ever  to  win 
When  their  doctor  said  'twas  a  blessing 

And  only  excess  was  sin. 

"My  husband,  so  noble  and  manly; 
My  boys,  so  proud  and  so  brave, 

They  lie  side  by  side  in  the  churchyard, 
Each  filling  a  drunkard's  grave. 

I  have  come  from  the  poorhouse  to  tell 
My   story,   and   now   it   is   done. 

Go  on,  if  you  will,  in  your  madness,  , 
And  license  the  selling  of  rum. 

Before  the  great  judgment  eternal, 
When  the  last  dread  moment  has  come. 
They'll  stand  there  to  witness  against  you, 

My  dear  ones,  the  victims  of  rum. 
When  the  shadows  of  earth  are  lifted, 

And  lif  e 'i-  secret  thcuo'lits  are  laid  bare, 
By  the  throne  of  the  Great  Eternal 

I  shall  witness  against  you  there." 


a 


Gleanings  from   the  Gullies. 


47. 


A  WOMAN'S  STORY. 

You  see,  there  are  things  you  can  govern, 

But  hearts  have  a  way  of  their  own; 
Like  birds  they  fly,  and  you  can  't  tell  why. 

And  you  never  miss  them  till  gone. 
And — why,  I  don't  tell  the  story — 

If  the  reason  you  really  must  learn, 
Though    my    heart    took    flight    with    the 
summer,  bright, 

Yet  I  won  no  heart  in  return. 

And  the  loss  that  I  met  results  in  this: 

That  mine  is  a  lonely  part; 
For  you  can't  for  you  life  make  a  loving 
wife 

Of  a  woman  without   a  heart. 
Another  head  rests  on  the  manly  breast 

That  I  wanted  to  shelter  me; 
Some  other  fair  face  has  won  my  place. 

So  no  man's  wife  I'll  be. 
Somebody's  eyes  were  gentle  and  kind, 

His  voice  was  tender  and  low; 
But   the   heart   that   I   wanted   was   given 
away 

Ever  so  long  ago. 
And  so,  while  I  solace  my  lonely  life. 

With  a  cat  and  a  cup  of  tea. 
Somebody's  arm  is  around  his  wife. 

And  her  baby  is  on  his  knee. 

But  compensation's  the  law  of  life, 

And  though  trials  the  gods  may  senci, 
There's   no   one   to   scold   when   the   beef- 
steak's cold. 

And  no  small  stockings  to  mend. 
So  the  love  that  was  lost  I  never  regret. 

When  I  think  what  my  tri^ils  might  be, 
When  dinner  is  late  I  smile  at  fate, 

And  nobody  storms  at  me! 


THE  NEW  NAME. 

I  know  not  what  the  name  will  be 
Which  Christ  my  Lord  will  give  to  me. 
When  at  my  journey's  end  I  stand 
Within  the  gates  of  Beulah  Land. 


That  name  so  sweet  in  heavenly  tone 
My  Lord  will  give  to  me  alone. 
That  name  will  suit  my  saved  soul — 
My  ransomed  name — while  ages  roll. 

That  name  will  mean,  in  Heaven 's  speech, 
The  greatest  love  my  soul  could  reach; 
And   deepest   sin,   rebellious   ways, 
From  these  redeemed,  I'll  sing  His  praise. 

That  name  will  mean  that  service  new 
Which  Christ  will  give  to  me  to  do. 
No  other  soul  my  Lord  will  ask 
To  do  my  soul's  peculiar  task. 

When  that  blest  name  my  Lord  shall  speak, 
With  love  and  joy  his  face  I'll  seek. 
Eedeemed  from  earthly  sin  and  shame, 
I'll  answer  to  my  heavenly  name. 


Mount  Hermon,  Mass. 


F.  L.  DULEY. 


MOTHER'S  GOOD  BYE. 

Sit  down  by  the  side  of  your  mother,  my 
boy, 
You  have  only  a  moment,  I  know; 
But  you  will  stay  till  I  give  you  my  part- 
ing advice, 
'Tis  all  that  I  have  to  bestow. 

You  leave  us  to  seek  for  employment,  my 
boy. 
But  the  world  you  have  yet 'to  be  tried; 
But   in    all   the   temptations   and   struggles 
you  meet  ' 

May  your  heart  in  the  Saviour  confide. 

You  will  find  in  your  satchel  a  Bible,  my 
boy, 
^Tis  the  book  of  all  others  the  best; 
It  will  teach  you  to  live,  it  will  help  you 
to  die. 
And  lead  to  the  gates  of  the  blest. 


48. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


I  gave  you  to  God  in  your  cradle,  my  boy, 
I  have  taught  you  the  best  that  I  knew; 
And  as  long  as  His  mercy  permits  me  to 
live, 
I  shall  never  cease  praying  for  you. 

Hold   fast   to    the   right,   hold   fast   to   the 
right, 
Wlierever  your  footsteps  may  roam; 
Oh,  forsake  not  the  way  of  salvation,  my 
boy, 
That  you  learned  from  your  mother  at 
home. 

Your  father  is  coming  to  bid  you  good-bye. 
Oh,  how  lonely  and  sad  we  shall  be; 

But   when   far   from   the    scenes   of    child- 
hood and  youth, 
You'll  think  of  your  father  and  me. 

I  want  you  to  feel  every  word  I  have  said, 
For  it  came  from  the  depths  of  my  love; 
And,  my  boy,  if  we  never  behold  you  on 
earth. 
Will  you  promise  to  meet  us  above? 

—ANON. 


SHADOWS  ON  THE  WALL. 

How  bright  was  the  happy  home  circle, 

That   gathered  in  years   that   are   gone; 
When  the  toils  of  the  day  were  all  ended 
Each    night     'round    the    cherry    hearth- 
stone. 
And  tie  glittering  waves  of  the  firelight 
Shone  out  with  a  gladness  for  all, 
And  lit  up  the  faces  of  loved  ones 

Whose  shadows  were  cast  on  the  wall. 

Chorus — 

'Tis  broken,  the  happy  home  circle. 

And  Lushed  are  the  voices  of  mirth. 
They  are  gone,  all  the  loved  and  dear 
ones. 
The  fire  burns  low  on  the  hearth. 


How  sweet  was  the  sound  of  their  voices, 

When  all  of  that  once  happy  throng, 
United  around  the  old  heartstone, 

To  join  in  the  praises  of  song. 
And  gently  the  gleam  of  the  firelight. 

Its  radiance  shed  soft  over  all, 
As  humbly  in  prayer  they  were  kneeling. 

While  shadows  bent  low  on  the  wall. 

Chorus. 

But  drear  is  the  once  cherry  fireside. 

And  sad  is  the  heart  now  alone. 
While  the  old-fashioned  clock  on  the  man- 
tel, 

Ticks  out  its  slow  measured  drone. 
And  the  fluttering,  glimmering  embers 

Shine  dimly  and  faint  as  they  fall 
On  the  hearth  where  the  loved  ones  onc& 
gathered. 

Whose  shadows  are  missed  on  the  wall. 

Chorus. 


THE  SALOON  BAE. 

A,  bar  to  heaven,  a  door  to  hell; 
Whoever  named  it  named  it  well. 
A  bar  to  manliness  and  wealth, 
A  door  to  want  and  broken  health; 
A  bar  to  honor,  pride  and  fame, 
A  door  to  want  and  grief  and  S'jame; 
A  bar  to  hope,  a.  bar  to  prayer, 
^   door  to  darkness  and   despair; 
A  bar  to  honored,  useful  life, 
A  door  to  brawling,  senseless  strife; 
A  bar  to  all  that's  true  and  brave; 
A  door  to  every  drunkard's  g>'ave; 
A  bar  to  joys  that  home  imparts: 
A  door  to  tears  and  aching  hearts; 
A  bar  to  heaven,  a  door  to  hell. 
Whoever  named  it  named  it  well. 


^'Gleanings  from  the  Gullies. 


?' 


49. 


THE  RED  GROSS  MAN. 

By  Amelia  Josephine  Burr, 

Of  the  Vigilantes. 

Broken   with  pain   and  weariness 

And  sapped  with  vile  disease, 
Back  to  the  land  of  ruined  towns, 

Of  murdered  men  and  trees. 
Through  Switzerland  from  Germany 

The  trains  of  wreckage  ran, — 
And  on  the  French  frontier  they  found 

A  Red  Cross  Man. 

And  when  to  what  had  once  been  home 

Those  haggard  exiles  came, 
Young  wheat  was  green  above  the  scars 

Of  steel  and  blood  and  flame 
Round  new  built  houses  where  once  more 

The  work  of  life  began. 
And  still  they  found  to  welcome  them 

A  Red  Cross  Man. 

There  the  husband  clasped  again 

The  wife  he  mourned  as  dead — 
The  child  was  on  its  mother's  breast, 

The  old  were  comforted. 
What  wonder  if  they  hope  to  find 

The  Angel  of  God's  Plan 

Who  meets  them  at  the  heavenly  gate 

A  Red  Cross  Man! 


PEACE. 

Some  people  believe  in  fighting, 

And  quarreling  all  the  time; 
But  I  think  it  best  to  be   at  peace. 

And  higher  up  to  climb. 

Because  our  stay  on  earth  is  short. 

With  father,  sister,  mother; 
We  should  live  in  peace  while  here. 

And  each  one  love  our  brother. 

There  are  people  in  the  city, 
Who  need  our  presence  there — 
To  sympathize  with  them. 
And  with  them  shed  a  tear. 

J.  C.  STUTTS. 


STRAY  SHOTS. 

I 

I  had  a  friend 

I  loaned  him  10 
I  haven't  seen 

My  friend  since  then. 

n 

Another  one 

Touched  me  for  5 
I  wonder  if 

He's  still  alive. 

ni 

Went  on  a  note 

To  help  a  third 
He  must  be  dead 

I  haven't  heard. 

IV 

I  guess  it's  true 

That  in  the  end 
A  fellow  is   V 

His  own  best  friend. 

C.  E.  B. 


THE  LESSON  IN  MODERN  LIFE. 

We  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 
To  bring  the  Lord  Christ  down; 

In  vain  we  search  the  lowest  deeps. 
For  him  no  depths  can  drown. 

But  warm,  sweet,  tender,  even  yet 

A  present  Help  is  he; 
And  faith  has  still  its  Olivet, 

And  love  its  Galilee. 


The  healing  of  the  seamless  dress 

Is  by  our  beds  of  pain; 
We  touch  him  in  life  's  throng  and  press^ 

And  we  are  whole  again. 


J: 


50. 


''Picked  up  Here  and  There 


' } 


CHEER  UP. 

By  Joseph  Sigmund. 
Have  you  ever  stopped  to  ponder 

^'What  fools  we  mortals  be" 
Who  search  for  !-in   and    sorrow 

In  a  world  so  full  of  glee? 

Have  you  ever  stopped  to  wonder 
Why  what  pleases  you  the  least 

Would  to  optimistic  natures 
Prove  a  veritable  feast? 

And  have  you  ever  pondered 

Why  we  grieve  and  pine  and  fret 

With  the  friends  of  our  dear  childhod 
True  and  loyal  to  us  yet? 

Look  around  you  and  then  wonder 
Why  you  have  congenial  work, 

While  so  many  idly  suffer 

Who  no  menial  job  would  shirk. 

Look  around  you  and  then  ponder 
Why  the  Good  One  up  on  high 

Should  bless  you  with  more  wisdom 
Than  that  imbecile  close  by. 

Swing  around,  my  dear  Complainer, 
Swing  around  and  face  the  sun, 

And  for  every  ounce  of  sadness 
You  will  find  a  pound  of  fun. 

Life  is  what  you  make  it,  Brother. 

If  you  nurse  complaints,  they  grow. 
Sooner  cultivate  contentment. 

You  will  reap  just  what  you  sow. 


IF. 

If  every  heart  were  quickened 

To  feel  another's  wrong. 
Then  living  would  be  loving 

And  life  would  be  a  song. 

— ^Baltimore  American. 


THINGS  THAT  ABIDE. 

In  the  bitter  waves  of  woe. 

Beaten  and  tossed  about 
By  the  sullen  winds  that  blow 

From  the  desolate  shores  of  doubt, 
When  the  anchors  that  faith  had  cast 

Are  dragging  in  the  gale, 
I  am  quietly  holding  fast 

To  the  things  that  cannot  fail, 
I  know  that  right  is  right, 

That  it  is  not  good  to  lie. 
That  love  is  better  that  spite, 

And  a  neighbor  than  a  spy.  ; 

I  know  that  passion  needs 

The  leash  of  sober  mind; 
I  know  that  generous  deeds 

Some  sure  reward  will  find; 
That  the  rulers  must  obey, 

That  the  givers  shall  increase; 
That  Duty  lights  the  way 

For  the  beautiful  feet  of  Peace. 
In  the  darkest  night  of  the  year. 

When  the  stars  have  all  gone  out. 
That  courage  is  better  than  fear. 

That  faith  is  truer  than  doubt 
And  fierce  though  the  fiends  may  fight. 

And  long  though  the  angels  hide, 
I  know  that  Truth   and  Right 

HaA^e  the  universe  on  their  side. 
And  that  somewhere  beyond  the  stars 

Is  a  love  that  is  better  than  fate. 
When  the  night  unlocks  her  bars, 

I  shall  see  Him,  and  I  will  wait. 

— Washington  Gladden   (Exchange). 


FOUR  ESSENTIALS. 

Four  things  a  man  must  learn  to  do 
If  he  would  keep  his  record  true; 
To  think  without  confusion  clearly  j 
To  love  his  fellow  men  sincerely; 
To  act  from  honest  motives  purely; 
To  trust  in  God  and  heaven  securely. 

— HENEY  VAN  DYKE. 


(( 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies,' 


51. 


If  you  can  keep  your  head  when  all  about 
you 
Are  losing  their 's  and  blaming  it  on  you; 
If  you    can   trust   yourself   when   all    men 
doubt  you. 
But  make  allowance  for  their  doubting, 
too; 
If    you    can    wait    and    not    be    tired    of 
waiting, 
Or  being  lied  about,  don 't  deal  in  lies. 
Or,  being  hated,  don't  give  way  to  hating. 
And  yet   don't  look  too  good,  nor  talk 
too  wise; 

If  you  can   dream — and  not  make  dreams 
your  master; 
If  you  can  think — and  not  make  thoughts 
your  aim; 
If  you  can  meet  with  triumph  and  disaster 
And  treat  those  two  impostors  just  the 
same; 
If  you  can  bear  to  hear  the  truth  you've 
spoken 
Twisted  by  knaves  to  make  a  trap  for 
fools, 
Or  watch  the  things  you  gave  your  like  to 

broken, 
And  stoop  and  build    'em   up   with   worn- 
out  tools; 

If  you  can  make  one  heap  of  all  your  win- 
nings 
And  risk  it  on  one  turn  of  pitch  and  toss, 
And  lose,  and  start  again  at  your  begin- 
nings 
And   never  breathe   a  word   about   your 
loss; 
If  you  can  force  your  heart  and  nerve  and 
sinew 
To  serve  your  turn  long  after  they  are 
gone. 
And  so  hold  on  when  there  is  nothing  in 
you 
Except    the    will    which    says    to    them: 
''Hold  on!'' 


If  you  can  talk  with  crowds  and  keep  your 
virtue 
Or  walk  with  kings — nor  lose  the  com- 
mon touch; 
If  iieither  foes  nor  loving  friends  can  hurt 
you; 
If    all    men    count    with    you,    but    none 
too  much; 
If  you  can  fill  the  unforgiving  minute 
With   sixty   seconds'   worth   of   distance 
run. 
Tours  is  the   earth  and  everything  that's^ 
in  it. 
And — ^which  is   more — you'll  be   a   man,, 
my  son! 

— -RUDTARD  KIPLING. 


AT  NIGHT. 

My  paw  comes  whistlin'  home  at  night 

And  swingin'  his  tin  pail 
That  mother  puts  his  lunches  in. 

And  jumps  the  creakin'  rail 
On  our  back  fence,  and  shouts:  "Hallo! 

You  sure  look  good  to  me!" 
And  '' Where's  your  mother,  little  son?*' 

And  smiles  all  twinklunly. 

Then  after  tea  he  says:   ''Come  on 

And  have  our  heart-to-heart!" 
I  tell  him  all  about  the  day. 

Eight  from  the  very  start! 
And  he's  as  pleased  as  he  can  be, 

As  if  I  wuz  a  man 
His  own  size,  talkin'  serusly 

About  some    'portant  plan! 

And  mother  lissens  with  her  eyes. 

And  dries  the  dishes,  too, 
And  paw,  he  says:   ^'Im  feeling  rich- 

Because  I've  got  you  two!" 
And  then  we  play  most  everything. 

And  have  the  greatest  fun. 
Till  paw  takes  out  his  watch  and  says:: 

"My,  how  this  evening's  gone!" 


I 


52. 


(  c 


Picked  up  Here  and  There 


'  > 


And  then  we  get  the  Bible  down, 

And  have   our   evening  prayers, 
Then  paw  he  lights  my  little  lamp 

And  comes  with  me  upstairs; 
And  then  he  kisses  me  good-night, 

The  longest,  slowest  way, 
And  tells  me  kind  of  deep  and  low: 

**IVe  lived  for  this  all  day!" 

— Amy  E.  Campbell. 


WISHING. 

Do  you  wish  the  world  were  better? 

Let  me  tell  you  what  to  do — 
Set  a  watch  upon  your  actions: 

Keep  them  always  straight  and  true, 
Bid  your  mind  of  selfish  motives; 

Let  your  thoughts  be  clean  and  high; 
You  can  make  a  little  Eden 

Of  the  sphere  you  occupy. 

Do  you  wish  the  world  to  be  wiser? 

Well,  suppose  you  make   a  start 
By  accumulating  wisdom 

In  the  scrap-book  of  your  heart. 
Do  not  waste  one  page  in  folly; 

Live  to  learn  and  learn  to  live; 
If  you  want  to  increase  knowledge. 

You  must  get  ere  you  can  give. 

Do  you  wish  the  world  were  better? 

Then  remember  day  by  day 
■Just  to  sow  the  seeds  of  kindness 

As  you  pass  along  the  way. 
For  the  pleasure  of  the  many 

May  be  ofttimes  traced  to  one. 
As  the  hand  that  plants  the  acorn 

Shelters  armies  from  the  suu. 


HOW  TO  LIVE. 

Worry  less   and  work   more, 
Eide  less  and  walk  more^ 
Frown  less   and   laugh   more, 
Eat  less  and  chew  more. 
Preach  less  and  practice  more. 


THE  WORLDS  CREDITOR. 

There  are  few  rewards  remaining 

For  the  man  who  doesn't  care 
And  has  no  wish  to  be  gaining 

Skill  or  knowledge  he  may  spare; 
But  the  world  becomes  his  debtor 

Who  is  keen  to  find  a  way 
To  perform  his  task  some  better 

Than   he   did  it  yesterday. 

There  are  plodders,  poor  and  humble, 

Who  approach  their  work  with  dread, 
And   they   lag   along   and   grumble 

At  the  ones  who  pass  ahead; 
Then  consent  to  putter  sadly 

While  their  masters  are  in  sight, 
And,  without  delay,  they  gladly 

Toss    their   tools    aside    at    night. 

There  are  men  who  must  be  driven 

To  the  tasks  they  have  to  do; 
Few  the  joys  they  shall  be  given 

And  their  profits  will  be  few; 
But  the  world  becomes  his  debtor 

Who  is  keen  to"  find  a  way 
To  perform  his  task  some  better 

Than  he  did  it  yesterday. 


SIMPLE    QUESTIONS. 

I  asked  my  papa  why  the  world 

Is  round  instead  of  square, 
And  why  the  piggies'  tails  are  curled, 

And  why  fish  don 't  breathe  air. 
And  why  the  moon  don  't  hit  a  star, 

And  why  the  dark  is  black, 
And  just  how  many  birds  there  are. 

And  will  the  wind  come  back. 

And  why  a  horse  can 't  learn  to  moo, 

And  why  a  cow  can't  neigh. 
And  do  the  fairies  live  on  dew, 

And  what  makes  hair  grow  gray, 
And  then  my  pa  got  up  an ',  oh. 

The  bffful  words  he  said! 
r  hadii  't  done  a  thing,  but  he 

Jest  sen'  me  off  to  bed! 


^^ Gleanings  from  the  Gullies 


ff 


53. 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOODS. 

A  gentleman  of  good  account 
In    Norfolk    dwelt    of    late, 

Who  did  in  honor  far  surmount 
Most  men   of  his  estate. 

Sore  sick  he  was  and  like  to  die, 
No  help  his  life  could  save; 

His  wife  by  him  as  sick  did  lie. 
And  both,  possessed  one  grave. 

No  love  between  these  two  was  lost,  ^ 

Each  was  to  other  kind; 
In  love  they  lived,  in  love  they  died. 

And  left  two  babes  behind. 

The  one,  a  line  and  pretty  boy, 
Not  passing  three  years  old. 

The  other,  a  girl  more  young  than  he,. 
And  framed  in  beauty's  mold. 

The  father  left  his  little  son, 

As  plainly  doth  appear, 
When  he  to  perfect  age  should  eome, 

Three  hundred  pounds  a  jei^. 

And  to  his  little  daughter,  Jane, 
Five  hundred  pounds  iu  gold. 

To  be  paid  down  on  her  marriage-day. 
Which  might  not  be  controlled. 


These  words  then  did  their  brother  speak 

To  this  sick  couple  there: 
''The  keeping  of  your  little  ones, 

Sweet   sister,   do   not  fear; 

''God  never  prosper  me  nor  mine. 

Nor  aught  else  that  I  have. 
If  I  do  wrong  your  children  dear. 

When  you  are  in  the  grave. '^ 

The  parents  being  dead  and  gone. 

The  children  home  he  takes. 
And  brings  them  straight  into  his  house. 

Where  much  of  them  he  makes. 

He  had  not  kept  these  pretty  babes 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day, 
When  for  their  wealth  he  did  devise 

To  put  them  both  away. 

He  bargained  with  two  ruffians  strong. 

Which  were  of  furious  mood. 
That  they  should  take  these  children  young 

And  slay  them  in  the  wood. 

He  told  his  wife  an  artful  tale; 

He  would  the  children  send 
To  be  brought  up  in  London  fair. 

With  one  that  was  his  friend. 


But  if  the  children  chance  should  die 
Ere  they  to  age  should  come. 

Their  uncle  should  possess  their  wealth, 
For  so  the  will  did  run. 

"Now,  brother, ''  said  the  dying  man, 
''Look  to  my  children   dear; 

Be  good  unto  my  boy  and  girl. 
No  friends  else  have  they  here.^' 


Away  then  went  those  pretty  babes,, 

Eejoicing  at  that  tide, 
Eejoieing  with  a  merry  mind. 

They  should   on   horseback  ride. 

They  both  did  prattle  pleasantly 

As  they  rode  on  the  way. 
To  those  that  should  their  butchers  be,. 

And  work  their  lives'  decay. 


And  up  bespake   their  mother,   dear, 
"-O  brother  kind!"  quoth  she, 

"You  are  the  man  must  bring  our  babes 
To  wealth  or  misery. ' ' 


So  that  the  pretty  speech  they  had 
Made  murder's  heart  relent, 

And  they  that  undertook  the  deed 
Full  sore  did  now  repent. 


54. 


u 


Picked  up  Here  and  There'' 


Tet  one  of  them,  more  hard  of  heart, 

Did  vow  to  do  his  charge, 
Because  the  wretch  that  hired  him 

Had  paid  him  very  large. 

The  other  won't  agree  thereto, 

So  here  they  fall  to  strife. 
With  one  another  they  did  fight 

About  the  children's  life. 


His  barns  were  fired,  his  goods  consumed, 

His  lands  were  barren  made; 
His  cattle  died  within  the  field, 

And  nothing  with  him  stayed. 


And  in  the  voyage  to  Portugal 

Two  of  his  sons  did  die, 
And  to  conclude,  himself  was  brought 

To  want  and  misery. 


And  he  that  was  of  mildest  mood, 

Did  slay  the  other  there, 
Within  an  unfrequented  wood — 

The  babes  did  quake  with  fear. 

He  took  the  children  by  the  hand, 

Tears  standing  in  their  eye. 
And  bade  them  straightway  follow  him; 

And  look  they  did  not  cry,  ^ 


And  two  long  miles  he  led  them  on, 

While  they  for  food  complain; 
' '  Stay   here, ' '   quoth    he,   ' '  I  '11  bring 
bread 


you 


When  I   come  back   again. 


ji 


Those  pretty  babes  with  hand  in  hand 
Went  wandering  up  and  down, 

But  never  more  could  see  the  man 
Approaching  from  the  town. 

Thus  wandered,  those  poor  innocents 
Till  death  did  end  their  grief; 

In  one  another's  arms  they  died, 
As  wanting  due  relief. 


He  pawned  and  mortgaged  all  his  land 
Ere  seven  years  came  about. 

And  now  at  length  this  wicked  act 
Did  by  this  means  come  out. 

The  fellow  that  did  take  in  hand 

These  children  for  to  kill. 
Was  for  a  robbery  judged  to  die — 

Such  was  God's  blessed  will; 

Who -did  confess  the  very  truth 
As  here  hath  been  displayed. 

The  uncle  having  died  in  jail. 
Where  he  for  debt  was  laid. 

)-4    .:'         ■ 

You  that  executors  be  made, 

And   overseers   eke 
Of  children  that  be  fatherless. 

And  infants  mild  and  meek, 

Take  you  example  by  this  thing. 
And  yield  to  each  his  right. 

Lest  God,  with  sach  like  misery. 
Your  wicked  minds  requite. 


No  burial  this  pretty  pair 

Of  any  man  receives. 
Till  robin  redbreast  piously 

Did  cover  them  with  leaves. 

And  now  the  heavy  wrath  of  God 

Upon   their  uncle  fell; 
Yea,  fearful  fiends  did  haunt  his  house; 

His  conscience  felt  in  hell! 


THE  BABES  IN  THE  WOODS. 


Oh,  don't  you  remember,  a  long  time  ago. 
Two  poor  little  babes — their  names  I  don't 

know — 
Were  stolen  away  one  bright  summer  day, 
And  lost  in  the  woods,  I've  heard  people 

say. 


''  Gleanings  from  the  Gullies. 


>j 


55. 


And  when  it  was  night,  oh,  sad  was  the 
sight  I 

The  moon  soon  went  down,  and  the  stars 
gave  no  light; 

They  sobbed  and  they  sighed,  and  they  bit- 
terly cried, 

Then  these  i)oor  little  babes  they  just  lay 
down  and  died. 

And  when  they  were  dead,  the  robin  so  red. 
Brought  strawberry  leaves  and  over  them 

spread, 
And  sang  them  a  song  through  all  the  day 

long — 
These    poor    little    babes,    who    never    did 

wrong. 


THE  EXPRESS  TO  SLEEP  TOWN. 
I  know  a  little  traveler. 

Who,  every  single  night 
Starts  on  a  long,  long  journey. 

That  lasts   till  broad   daylight. 

Her  ticket  reads  '^Sleeptown  Express," 
Stamped  ^'Papa's  G-ood-night  Kiss" 

And  when  she  pays  him  with  a  hug 
He  says:  '^I  thank  you.  Miss. 

**Jnst    take   the    berth    marked    'Dreamy- 
land'; 
You  mount  it  by  the  stairs. 
Make  haste,  because  the  train  should  start 
Soon  as  you've  said  your  prayers. 

"Remember,   too,   on   this    express 

You  tightly  close  your  eyes; 
And  no  one  reaches  Sleepy  Town 

Who  talks  or  laughs  or  cries. 

**So  when  the  sandman  engineer 

His  engine  bell  has  rung, 
The  passenger  from  Sleepy  Town 

Must  surely  hold  her  tongue. 

**Be  ready,  then,  to  jump  aboard; 

Kiss  mother  at  the  gate. 
It's  after  half -past  seven  and 

The  train  is  due  at  eight. ' ' 


THE   TRANSGRESSOR. 

While  I  sit  here  by  the  fire, 
And  play  a  tune  on  my  guitar, 
I  think  of  David  as  I  start — 
A  man  after  God's  own  heart. 

How  he  played  his  harp  so  sweet, 

To  all  the  people  he  did  meet; 

So  we  see  him  after  awhile, 

With  a  sad  countenance  and  'no  smile. 

Because  he  had  that  good  man  slain. 
It  grieved  his  heart  and  gave  him  pain; 
And  so  you  see  I'm  writing  deep, 
David  sowed  and  had  to  reap. 

He  prayed  to  God  to  forgive  his  sin, 

So  he  could  commence  again 

To    teach    the    transgressors    the    way    of 

peace. 
That  his  heart  might  be  at  ease. 

So   in  conclusion  I  will   say. 
While  we  have  time  let  us  all  pray; 
And  with  each  other  be  in  love, 
That  we  may  reach  that  home  above. 

Where  the  blessed  Saviour  has  gone  before. 
To  prepare  us  a  home  on  that  bright  shore, 
Where  we  can  sing  and  shout  God's  praise, 
And  be  with  him  through  endless  days. 

J.   C.   STUTTS. 


PA'S  UNCLE  JOE. 

Written  for  Rural  Home,  by  Portia  Black. 

stone 
Gee,  I  hate  to  have  him  go. 
I  just  love  pa's  Uncle  Joe. 
Only  guest  we  ever  had 
Who's  not  said  that  I  was  bad. 

He's  been  West  for  thirty  years 
Digging  mines  and  punching  steers. 
Dad  once  lived  with  Uncle  Joe, 
Who  said  ;  ' '  How  the  years  do  go !  • 


56. 


{( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


I  can  see  you  now  again. 
Bill  is  just  as  you  were  then.'' 
''No/'  I  said,  ''I'm  not  like  dad; 
He  was  good  and  I  am  bad." 


Never  once  since  that  first  day 
Has  lie  had  a  word  to  say 
Of  how  good  he  used  to  be 
When  he  was  the  size  of  me. 


Just  then  my  dad  heard  a  noise 
That  he  thought  was  prowling  boys 
"Went  out  on  the  lawn  to  look. 
Uncle  Joe  picked  up  a  book. 

Pa  called  to  him  very  soon 
To  come  out  and  view  the  moon. 
I  went  too,  but  my  dad  said 
It  was  time  I  went  to  bed. 

Only  time  I  ever  knew 

Him  to  fail  to  say  'twas  true 

That  he  never  sat  up  late 

When  he  wasn't  more  than  eight. 

I  was  glad  when  morning  came, 
Somewhat  worried  just  the  same, 
For  at  dinner  Uncle  Joe, 
Almost  choked  to  death,  I  know. 

I'd  upset  a  cup  of  tea. 
Dad  lookde  very  fierce  at  me. 
Said  no  one  had  ever  seen 
His  tablecloth  aught  but  clean. 

Just  as  the  last  word  he  spok« 
Uncle  Joe  began  to  choke. 
Must  have  been  the  apple  pie 
Gee,  I'm  glad  he  didn't  die! 

Oh,  we've  had  some  jolly  times. 
Uncle  Joe  has  lots  of  dimes, 
And  my  dad's  been  awful  kind. 
Never  let  his  uncle  find 

That  I  do  the  things  I  do. 
I  admit  that  they  are  true. 
Dad  was  awful  good,  you  know. 
When  he  lived  with  Uncle  Joe. 


When  I  told  uncle  ''Good-by'^ 
I  said:  "I'm  going  to  try 
To  do,  when  I  visit  you, 
Just  as  my  dad  used  to  do." 

On  my  head  he  placed  his  hand. 
Said  to  dad,  "Won't  that  be  grand?" 
Kissed  me  and  said,  "Little  man, 
I  doubt  much  if  mortal  can." 

Said  he:  "Look  ahead  and  try 
To  be  good  so  by  and  by 
You  will  be  as  dad  is  now. 
That's  worth  trying,  anyhow." 


JUST  FOR  TODAY. 

By  Samuel  WHberforce. 
Lord,  for  tomorrow  and  its  needs 

I  do  not  pray; 
Keep  me  from  any  stain  of  sin 

Just  for  today; 
Let  me  be  kind  in  word  and  deed 

Just  for  today, 
Let  me  be  slow  to  do  my  will — 

Prompt  to   obey. 


Help  me  to  sacrifice  myself 

Just  for  today. 
Let  me  no  wrong  nor  idle  word 

Unthinking  say — 
Set  thou  Thy  seal  upon  my  lips, 
Just  for  today. 
So  for  tomorrow  and  its  needs 

I  do  not  pray, 
But  keep  me,  guide  me,  hold  me  Lord, 

Just  for  today. 


a 


Gleanings  from    the  Gullies 


f> 


57. 


WHAT  HAVE  WE  DONE  TODAY? 

"We  shall  do  so  much  in  -the  year  to  come, 

But  what  have  we  done  today? 
We  shall  give  our  gold  in  a  princely  sum, 

But  what  did  we  give  today? 
We  shall  lift  the  heart  and  dry  the  tear, 
We  shall  plant  a  hope  in  the  place  of  fear, 
We    shall    speak    the    words    of    love    and 
cheer, 
But  what  did  we  speak  today? 

We  shall  be  so  kind  in  the  after-a-while, 

But  what  have  we  been  today? 
We  shall  bring  to  each  lonely  life  a  smile, 

But  what  have  we  brought  today? 
We  shall  give  to  truth  a  grander  birth. 
And  to  steadfast  faith  a  deeper  worth, 
We  shall  feed  the  hungering  souls  of  earth, 
But  whom  have  we  fed  today? 

We  shall  reap  such  joys  in  the  by  and  by, 
But  what  have  we  sown  today? 

We  shall  build  us  mansions  in  the  sky, 
But  what  have  we  built  today? 

*Tis  sweet  in  the  idle  dreams  to  bask. 

But  here  and  now  do  we  do  our  task? 

Yes,  this  is  the  thing  our  soul  must  ask: 
''What  have   we   done  today?'' 


I    *'lt  the  good  were  only  better,  would  the 
wicked  be  so  bad?'' 
Thus  a  wise  and  earnest  Christian  puts  a 
question,  weighty,  sad. 

If  the  good  were  only  better,  'tis  a  thought 

that  will  not  down. 
For   the    good   to    all   their    goodness    still 

may  set  a  richer  crown. 

If  the  good  were  only  better,  if  to  actual 

goodness  won 
They   would   add  the   larger   total   of   the 

good  that's  left  undone; 


If  the  good  were  only  better,  if  to  virtue 

well  attained 
They  would  give   the   ampler   measure   of 

new  virtue  daily  gained; 

If  the  good  were  only  better,  if  with  faults 

but  half  subdued, 
They  would  wage  a  stouter  warfare  boldly 

every  day  renewed; 

If  the  good  were  only  better,  if  Christ's 

people  everywhere 
Were  more  like  their  Lord   and   Saviour, 

loving,  pure  and  oft  in  prayer; 

If  the  good  were  only  better,  jf  for  grace 

each  hour  bestowed 
Still  more  grace   should  be  their  craving 

as  they  tread  the  heavenly  road; 

If  the  good  were  only  better,  climbing  up- 
ward day  by  day 

With  the  Master's  blest  approval  cheer- 
ing all  the  toilsome  way; 

If   the    good   were   only    better,    then    the 

wicked  taking  note 
Might  be  touched  with  better  feeling  and 

their  lives  to  God  devote; 

If   the   good  were   only  better,  better   all 

the  world  would  be. 
And  our  Lord  the  full  fruition  of  his  life 

and  death  would  see. 


THE  FIRST  MORTGAGE. 

Now  reader,  go  along  with  me, 
Away  back  to  Eternity; 
Go  back  beyond  the  days  of  youth. 
Where  everything  that  was,  was  truth. 

Beyond  the  sorrow  and  the  tears, 
Beyond  the  suffering  and  fears, 
Beyond  the  anguish  and  the  gloom, 
Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  tomb. 


58. 


<( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


Beyond  all  trouble  and  all  pain, 
Beyond  all  losses  and  all  gain, 
Beyond  all  sobs  and  bitter  sighs, 
Beyond  the  limit  of  the  skies. 

Before  there  was  a  ray  of  light, 
Before  there  was  a  day  or  night, 
Before  a  prayer  was  ever  prayed. 
Before  the  world  was  ever  made. 

Before  there  was  a  moon,  or  sun. 
Before  old  time  itself  begun; 
Before  there  was  a  now,  or  then. 
Before  there  was  a  where,  or  when. 

Before  there  was  a  'here,'  or  'there' 

Or  anything,  or  anywhere; 

Go  back  a  hundred  thousand  years. 

And  farther  still,  though  filled  with  fears. 

Go  back  until  within  the  past, 
You  fail  to  find  the  place  at  last 
Where  the  beginning  you  can  see, 
At  one  end  of  Eternity. 

Go  back  until  there's  not  a  trace 
Of  anything,  but  God  and  space; 
God  all  around,  below,  above; 
Unlimited  in  power  and  love. 

Away  back  here  removed  from  sight, 
Where  everything  that  was  was  right; 
Away  back  here  removed  from  sin. 
Is  where  my  story  does  begin. 


WHAT  MATTERS  IT? 

What  matters  it,  if  joy  or  grief 

Should  fall  into  our  portion? 
If  happiness  is  only  brief 

As  fleeting  as  misfortune? 
At  any  rate,  the  self.sane  fate 

Stands  at  the  verge  before  us, 
'Tis  but  a  little  while  to  wait. 

His  shadow  settles  o'er  us. 
'Tis  just  as  well  to  wear  a  smile 

And  all  life's  tempests  weather 
Untroubled,  in  a  little  while 

We'll  all  be  dead  together. 


What  matters  it?     A  few  days  more. 

The  chapter  may  be  ended, 
Across  oblivion's  soundless  shore 

Our  dreams  will  be  blended 
However  we  seek  to  mend  our  lot. 

In  spite  of  our  endeavor, 
We  age,  we  die,  and  are  forgotten, 

Forever  and  forever. 
'Tis  just  as  well  to  be  content. 

Nor  seeks  to  break  the.  leather 
That  binds  us.     When  the  years  are  spent, 

We'll  all  be  dead  together. 


^'GOD  IS  LOVE." 
William  Brickey 
Our  God  is  a  God  of  wondrous  love. 
Who  sits  on  his  jasper  throne  above; 
But  his  loving  works  on  the  earth  are  seen 
In  the  verdant  fields  of  living  green. 
And  the  tiny  flowers  with  mute  appeal, 
That  a  heart  of  adamant  may  feel. 
And   the   twittering  birds   in   the   wayside 

grove 
Tell  the  traveling  pilgrim,  ''God  is  love." 

Each    thunder-peal      from    the      storm-girt 

cloud. 
Where    the     lightnings    flash    from    their 

dusky  shroud. 
Is  the  voice  of  .the  mighty  God  on  high. 
As   he   speaks   in   love   from   the   low 'ring 

sky. 
That  pours  its  rain  on  the  thirsty  soil, 
That  smiles  as  it  brings  forth  corn  and  oil 
In    response    to    the    voice    from    heaven 

above, 
And  the  eart  re-echoes,  "God  is  love." 

Yea,  God  is  love,  and  his  works  are  true, 
And  his  mercies  every  day  are  new. 
For  the  earth  is  full  of  his  loving  ways, 
And    the    heavens    o  'erflow    with    celestial 

praise. 
But  eternity  will  be  too  short 
To  tell  all  the  glories  of  his  court; 
At  his  loving  word  all  the  planets  move. 
And  the  universe  cries  out,  "God  is  love." 


(< 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.'' 


59. 


WHEN  FIRST  I  HEARD  OF  HOLINESS. 

When  first  I  heard  of  holiness,  I  tho't  it 
must  be  right; 

It  seemed  to  fit  the  Bible,  and  be  the 
Christian's  light; 

I  heard  the  people  singing  and  testifying, 
too; 

They  semed  to  love  their  Saviour  as  Chris- 
tians ought  to  do. 


Chorus — 

We'll  sing,  and  we'll  preach. 

We'll    preach    the    way    of    holiness    so 
true; 
We'll  sing  and  we'll  preach 

Till    our    blessed    loving    Saviour's    face 
we  view. 


L  went  to  camp  meeting  and  heard  them 
preach  and  sing 

They  surely  preached  the  Bible,  and  made 
the  welcome  ring; 

It  made  me  think  of  heaven,  the  Chris- 
tian's home  on  high; 

Where  we  will  live  forever,  and  never, 
never  die, 

I,  little  thought  of  being  one,  I  said  I 
could  not  stand, 

To  be  among  that  people,  they  called  the 

^'holy  band;" 
The   world   looked   down   upon   them,    and 

said  they  were  so  rash; 
They  •  often  spoke   against  them,  and  said 

they  were  but  trash. 

But  as  I  went  to  hear  them,  and  saw  the 

way  they  did, 
I  saw  they  had   a  treasure,  from  worldly 

people  hid; 
They     seemed  to  be' so     happy,  and     filled 

with   Christian  love, 
When  people  talked  about  them,  they  only 

looked  above. 


My  heart  began  to  hunger,  and  thirst  and 

burn  within; 
I  wanted   full  salvation — a   freedom  from 

all  sin; 
I  went  to  God  for  holiness,  and  called  upon 

His  name; 
He    cleansed    my    heart    completely,    and 

filled  it  with  the   same. 

And   now   I'm   one   who   bears   that   name, 

that  happy,  holy  band; 
I've  crossed  the  river  Jordan,  I'm  in  the 

Canaan  land. 
The   atmosphere   is  pleasant,   and   fruit   of 

every  kind: 
When    you    reach    heaven's    portals,    I'll 

not  be  far  behind. 


Just  as  I  am.  Thine  own  to  be 
Friend  of  the  young.  Who  lovest  me — 
To  consecrate  myself  to  Thee, 
O  Jesus   Christ,  I  come. 

In  the  glad  morning  of  my  day, 
My  life  to  give,  my  vows  to  .pay. 
With  no  reserve,  and  no  delay — 
With  all  my  heart,  I  come. 

I  would  live  ever  in  the  light, 
I  would  work  ever  for  the  right, 
I  would  serve  Thee  with  all  my  might — 
Therefore  to  Thee  I  come. 

Just  as  I  am,  young,  strong  and  free. 
To  be  the  best  that  I  can  be. 
For  truth,  and  righteousness,  and  Thee, 
Lord  of  my  life,  I  come. 

Not  heeding  dreams  of  fame  or  gold. 
Success  and  Joy  to  make  me  bold; 
But  dearer  still — my  faith  to  hold 
For  my  whole  life — I  come. 

And  for  Thy  sake  not  seek  renown, 
At  last  to  take  the  victor's  crown. 
And  at  Thy  feet  to  lay  it  down, 
O  Master,  Lord,  I  come. 


60. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.*' 


WHEN  IT  GETS  DRY  IN  KANSAS. 

Ed.  Blair,  Spring  Hil,  Kan. 

-i 

When  it  gits  dry  in  Kansas 

It  does  the  thing  up  right! 

The  'vegetation  sizzles  up; 

It  "s    jes '    a   perfect   sight. 
The  cattle  stand  and  bellow, 

And  some  folks  do  the  same; 
It's  mighty  hard  to  tell  which  crowd's 

The  noisiest  at  the  game. 
When  it  gits  dry  in  Kansas 

The  catfish  go    'n'  hide 
Away  down  in  the  mucky  mud, 

To  keep  from  bein'  dried; 
'N'  thin,  white  clouds  that  look  jes'  like 

A  cut-up  cotton  batt 
All  frazzled  out,  go  floatin'  roun' 

No  bigger  than  a  hat. 
When  it  gits  dry  in  Kansas 

The  Chinee  bugs  multiply, 
'N'  hoppers  fly  up  in  yer  face 

When  you  go  passing  by; 
'N'  dust  gits  seven  inches  thick, 

'N'  hot  winds  start  to  blew — 
When  it  gits  dry  in  Kansas 

There's  nothing  has  a  show. 
When  it  gits  dry  in  Kansas 

The   people  mighty  soon 
Begin  to  talk   'n'  worry   'bout 

The  changes  in  the  moon; 
'N'  grandpa  lights  his  pipe    'n'  says. 

To  not  git  worried  yit, 
*'Fer  eighteen  months  in   'Sixty, 

It  never  rained  a  bit." 
When  it  gits  dry  in  Kansas 
It  puts  some  folks  to  rout; 
They  sell  off  ev'rything  they  have 

'N'  go  a  hustlin'  out, 
A  saying'  they  have  had  enough, 

'N'  cussin  jes'  like  sin^- 
But  ev'ry  dod-blamed  one  uv  'em 

Jes'  comes  right  back  agin! 


CONTRASTS. 

If  the  world  were  filled  with  gladness, 

And  no  suffering  could  be, 
And  if  hearts  from  toil  and  sadness 

Forever  should  be  free, 
Would  life  be  more  worth  living, 

Or  the  days  more  happy  seem; 
Would  we  then  care  more  for  giving 

To  dark  lives  a  brighter  gleam? 

Would  joy  for  us  be  brighter 

Did  we  know  no  anxious  thought. 

Would  ever  rest  seem  lighter 
Than  after  care  is  brought? 

If  all  the  birds  of  summer 

With  song  our  hearts  could  cheer. 
Would  the  notes  of  a  new-comer 

Sound  as  welcome  to  the  ear; 
Would  the  morning  song  it  raises 

To  the  world  from  here  and  there 
So  thrill  us  with  its  praises 

As  its  music  fills  the  air? 

And  were  summer  air  o  'erlaid 
With  fragrance  from  each  flower, 

Would  we  care  then  for  the  shade 
Of  some  blossom-scented  bower? 

Ji,  all  the  arch  of  Heaven 

With  heavy  clouds  were  veiled. 
Or  the  blue  sky  were  not  riven, 

And  no  storm-clouds  o'er  it  sailed, 
Would  the  floating  mists  seem  whiter — 

More  lovely,  or  the  blue 
To  us  appear  then  brighter     • 

Than  to  see  the  cloud-forms  too? 

And  if  no  friend  were  nearer. 
But  each  to  all  were  friends, 

Would  love  be  any  dearer 

Than  the  charm  which  now  it  lends? 

No,  in  all  it  is  the  contrast. 
Each  in  its  given  sphere. 


iC 


Gleanings  from,  the  Gullies. 


>* 


61. 


That  makes  the  harmonies  which  cast 

Their  beauties  everywhere. 
'Tis  the  sweet  that  makes  the  bitter, 

And  the  bitter  makes  the  sweet, 
iTis  in  gloom  we  see  the  glitter. 

After  night  the   day  we  greet. 

Oft  'mid  gladsome  hours  come  sorrows, 
Into  sunshine  shadows  steal, 

So  throughout  the  days  and  morrows 
Each  thing  others  will  reveal. 


BIG  FALLS  HYMN. 

Say,     have  you  heard     of  the   cries     and 

squalls 
Of  the  people  in  and  around  Big  Falls 
About   vaccination?      Yes,   that's   the    cry, 
And  the  people  want  to  know  the  reason 

why 

That  the  doctors  visit  our  town. 
And  shut  our  main  dependence  down. 
And  give  our  women  such  dreadful  shocks 
By  vaccinating  us  for  Smallpox. 

We  want  to  live  and  let  others  live, 
But  our  money  we  do  not  want  to  give 
To  men  who  are  busy  here  of  late 
Hunting  up  people  to  vaccinate. 

They    come    well    armed    with    points    and 

shield 
Like  soldiers  going  to  a  battle  field. 
With  policeman  and  experts  from  Virginia 

State. 
And  the  powers  of  Burlington  to  vaccinate. 

But  we  beheld  them  on  the  Hill, 

In  sight  of  Juanita  Cotton  Mill 

Caucusing  what  course  to  pursue 

To  enter  our  town,  and  vaccinate  us  too. 

Soon  a  courier  we  to  them  sent, 
To  meet  this  band  who  were  intent 
"i^o  vaccinate  us  one  and  all 
Who  live  at,  in,  and  around  Big  Falls. 


When  he  told  them  of  the  fate. 
That  awaited  those  who  vaccinate 
The  policeman  and  the  doctor  too,  • 

Back  to  the  town  of  Burlington  flew- 

Don't  rush  upon  us  people  so. 
And  force  us  to  the  pesthouse,  no. 
We  dont  intend  to  let  you  in. 
To  vaccinate  with  point  or  pin. 

Smallpox,  Smallpox,  is  all  the  cry 

When  the  doctor  sees  its  measles  he  kinder 

shuts  his  eye. 
You  may  call  it  smallpox,  doctor,  fool  us 

if  you  can,  • 

But  we  hardly  believe  you  know  a  monkey 

from  a  man. 

Another  verse  we  now  must  add,   , 

To  make  youjaugh  and  feel  quite  glad. 

The   policeman   from   Burlington   had   such 

a  chill 
His  teeth  popped  together  so  he  couldn't 

hear  the  mill. 

So  now  we  close  this  Big  Fall  Ehyme 
Don't  aajhodj  think  we  lost  anytime. 
For   we    all    stood    together    to    share    the 

same  fate 
To    die   rather   than   let   the    doctor   vacci_ 

nate. 

Faucets    may    drain    a   barrel    dry 

But  to  stick  vaccine  in  us  they  need  not 

try 
For  the  Miller  in  Burlington   has   ceased 

to   grind 
As  for  grinding  and  Fauceting  a  new  place 

must  find. 
The  Miller  has  run  his  short  race  through 

The    Page-ant    and    Faucet    have    nothing 

new  to   do. 
Patt-ers-on    the    cheek,    but    Freeman,    let 

us  be 
But  move  the  Stock (y)ard  further  out  into 

the  sea 


62. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There. 


^  f 


KN-OWLEDGE. 

''If  only  we  could  see  what  lies  ahead, 
If    we    might    look    beyond    tomorrow's 
portals, 
I    wonder   if   we     should,   absolved     from 
dread, 
Be    happy-visaged    and    contented    mor- 
tals? 
Would    all    the    hate    and    heartaches    dis- 
appear, 
Would  glee  blot  out  all  memories  of  sor- 
row— 
If  we   could   see   what   lies   beyond   to- 
«   morrow? 

If  we  could  know  what  destines  the  fates 
Are    shaping    now    for    us    who    blindly 
blunder; 

And  oft  in  vain  assault  forlfidden  gates, 
How  would   the   knowledge   profit   us,  I 
wonder? 
Would   failure    cease   to   break   the   hearts 
of  men? 
Would  night's  deep  silent  darkness  lose 
its  terror? 
Would  he  that  ought  to  dig  lay  down  the 
pen? 
Would   all  who   stumble   cease   to   grope 
in  error? 


We  know  that  right  is  right,  that  wrong 
is  wrong. 
That    thus    it    was    ordained    at    time's 
beginning; 

We  know  that  honors  to  the  wise  belong. 
That   sorrow  is  the   heavy  price   of  sin- 
ning. 

Tet  foolishly  we  sin  and  venture  where 
the  currents,  soon  or  late,  will  drag 
us   under; 

If  somehow  all  the  future  were  laid  bare. 

How  would  beholding  profit  us,  I  won- 
der?'' 


"Some  of  these  days  all  the  skies  will  be 

brighter ; 
Some  of  these  days  all  the  burdens  will  be 

lighter; 
Hearts     will     be     happier,  •  souls     will    be 

whiter, 

Some  of  these  day^! 

''Some   of  these   days,  in  the   deserts  up- 
springing. 

Fountains    shall    flash   while    the    joy-bells 
are  ringing; 

And  the  world — with  its  sweetest  of  birds 
— shall  go  singing 
Some  of  these  days! 

Some  of  these  days!    Let  us  bear  with  our 
sorrow! 

Faith  in  the  future-^its  light  we  may  bor- 
row; 

There    will   be   joy   in    the   golden    tomor- 
row— 

Some  of  these  days !  " 


THE  FLOWERS  WILL  COME  IN  MAY. 

O  sweetheart!  don't  be  sighing. 

The    winter   won't   be   long; 
Soon  merry  birdlings  crying. 

Will  glad  the  earth  with  song, 
For  though  it  be  December, 

And  dark  and  drear  the  day, 
Be  cheerful  and  remember 
The  flowers  will  come  in  May. 

Chorus — 

The  flowers  will  come  in  May, 
Sweet  flowers  bloom  in  May, 

And  hearts  now  sad  shall  then  be  glad, 
When  iLe  flowers  come  in  May. 

O  sweetheart!   so  with  sorrow— 

The  w'nter  of  the   heart — 
Some   golden,  fair ,  tomorrow, 

.Will  see  it  all  depart. 
And  love's  own  birds  be  singing 

Their  carols  sweet  and  gay, 
With   wedding.bells   a-ringing. 

When  the  flowers  come  in  May, — Cho. 


S 


''Gleanings  from  the  Gullies." 


63. 


THE  FEMALE  OF  THE  SPECIES. 
"Answer  to  Rudyard  Kipling." 

There  has  not  been  a  poem  so  widely- 
discussed  in  a  long  time  as  Mr.  Kipling's 
''The  Female  of  the  Species"  published 
recently  in  the  Ladies'  Home  Journal.  It 
has  called  forth  many  answers  in  reply,  of 
which  none  seems  better  than  the  follow- 
ing: 

When  the  earth  emerged  from  chaos,  full 
of  beauty  and  of  grace, 

Man,  ordained  to  be  its  ruler,  God  appoint- 
ed to  his  place; 

But  the  wise  and  kind  Creator,  knowing 
man  was  incomplete, 

Formed  the  purest  of  all  species,  woman, 
for  the  man's  help-meet. 

When  the  wily  Serpent  tempted,  and  both 

man  and  woman  fell; 
When    the    sword    of    justice    threatened, 

when  they  faced  an  endless  hell; 
Not   to   man   was   promise   given,    seed   to 

bruise  the  Serpent's  head; 
Through   the   female   of   the    species    came 

man's  hope  when  hope  was  dead. 

Ever  down  succeeding  ages,  shown  by 
■  hist'ry  of  our  world. 

When  the  power  of  sin  has  triumphed,  sor- 
row's banner's  been  unfurled. 

Man  has  fought  and  man  has  butchered; 

Women's  hands  men's  wounds  have  dress- 
ed; 

For  the  female  of  the  species  with  love's 
tenderness  is  blessed. 

When  the  hate  of  men  is  kindled  till  like 

fiends  with  pity  dead, 
Eobbed    of    natural    affections,    they    o'er 

earth  foul  murder  spread. 
Then  the  Nightingales-  and  Bartons,  filled 

with  tenderness,  appear; 
For  the  female  of  the  species  in  man's  hour 

of  need  is  near. 


'Twas  the  female  of  the  species  who  sore 
travailed  at   our  birth, 

'Twas  the  female  of  the  species  gave  the 
Saviour  to  our  earth. 

'Tis     the    mother,     gentle,     tender,    whom 
we'll  love  till  dying  breath, 

'Tis  the  mother  of  our  species  who  is  faith- 
ful unto  death. 

— June  Guythorne  Fiskale. 


TEMPERANCE  ADDITION. 

One  little  temperance  boy,  to  his  work  so 

true. 
Pledged  another  little  boy,  then  there  were 

two. 

Two  little  temperance  boys,  from  bad  hab- 
its  free. 

Got  another  boy  to  join  them;  then  there 
were  three. 

Three  little  temperance  boys,  never  drank 

or  swore, 
Taught    a   boy   he    must   not   smoke;    then 

there  were  four. 

Four  little  temperance  boys,  to  their  work 

alive. 
Helped   another   boy  be   good;    then   there^ 

were  five. 

Five  little  temperance  boys,  eyes  so  very 

bright. 
Soon   started   number   six   on   the   road   so 

right. 

Six  little  temperance  boys,  looking  up  to 

heaven. 
Cheered  a  playmate  on  the  way;  then  there 

were  seven. 

Seven  little  temperance  boys,  all  rum  they 

hate. 
Told    a   fellow    of   the   wrong;    then    there. 

were  eight. 


64. 


( { 


Picked  up  Here  mid  There. 


> ) 


Eight    little    temperance    boys    touch    not, 

taste  not  wine, 
Asked    a    schoolmate    not    to    drink;    then 

there  were  nine. 

Nine    little    temperance    boys   learned   the 

truth,  and  then 
Told  it  to  another  boy;  so  there  were  ten. 

Ten  little  temperance  boys,  working  hand 

in  hand, 
To  drive  strong  drink  away  from  our  na_ 

tive  land, 

I  ask  you  all  to  help  them.     Work  with 

all  your  might; 
Never  fear   nor  falter;    God   is  with   the 
I  right. 

— ^Ida  M.  Buxton,  in  Pansy. 


IN   THE   GOOD   OLD   SUMMER-TIME. 

There 's   a   time  in   each  year 
That  we  always  hold  dear. 

Good  old  summer-time! 
With  the  birds  and  the  trees, 
And  the  sweet-scented  breeze, 

Good  old  summer-time. 
When  your  day's  work  is  over, 
Then   you  are   in   clover. 

And  life  is  one  beautiful  rhyme, 
No  trouble  annoying 
Each  one  is  enjoying 

The  good  old  summer-time. 

Chorus — 

In  the  good  old  summer-time. 

In  the  good  old  summer-time, 
Strolling  through  the  shady  lanes 

With  your  baby  mine! 
Tou  hold  her  hand  and  she  holds  yours. 

And  tbat's  a  very  good  sign 
That  she's  your  tootsey-wootsey 

In  the  good  old  summer-time. 


To  swim  in  the  pool 

You'd  play  '^ hookey"  from  school, 

Good  old  summer-time! 
You  'd  play  ' '  ring.a-rosy ' '  / 

With  Jim,  Kate  and  Josie, 

Good  old  summer-time. 
Those  days  full  of  pleasure 
We  now  fondly  treasure, 

When  we  never  thought  it  a  crime 
To  go  stealing  cherries, 
With  face  brown  as  berries. 

Good  old  summer-time! — Chorus. 


KOCK  OF  AGES. 

''Eock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me — " 

Thoughtlessly  the  maiden  sung; 
Fell  the  words  unconsciously 

From  her  girlish,  guileless  tongue; 
Sung  as  little  children  sing . 

Sung  as  sing  the  birds  in  June: 
Fell  the  words  as  light  leaves  down 

On  the  current  of  the  tune — 
"Bock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
■^Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

Felt  her  soul  no  need  to  hide. 

Sweet  the  song  as  song  could  be, 

And  she  had  no  thought  beside; 
All  the  world  unheedingly 

Fell  from  lips  untouched  by  care. 
Dreaming  not  that  each  might  be 

On  some  other  lips  a  prayer — 
"Eock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee," 

"Eock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me — " 

'Twas  a  woman  sang  them  now; 
Sung  them  slow  and  wearily — 

One  hand  on  her  aching  brow, 
Eose  the  song  as  a  storm.tossed  bird, 

Beats  with  weary  wing  the   air 
Every  note  with  sorrow  stirred. 

Every  syllable  a  prayer — 
''Eock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee:" 


"Gleanings  from  the  Gullies. 


65. 


*'Eock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me — " 

Lips  grown  aged  sung  the  hymn 
Trustingly    and   tenderly; 

Voice  grown  weak  and  eyes  grown  dim 
**Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 

Trembling  though  the  voice  and  low, 
Ran  the  sweet  strain  peacefully, 
V     Like  a  river  in  its  flow; 
-Sung  as  only  they  can  sing 

Who  life's  thorny  paths  have  pressed: 
Sung  as  only  they  can  sing 

Who  behold  the  promised  rest — 
^'Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
liCt  me  hide  myself  in  Thee. ' ' 


>  J 


*'Rock   of   Ages,   cleft   for   me- 

Sung  above  a  cofS.n  lid, 
Underneath  all  restfully, 

All  life  's  joys  and  sorrow^  shid. 
Never  more,  O  storm-tossed  soul, 

Never  more  from  wind  and  tide. 
Never  more  from  billows '  roll 

Wilt  thou  ever  need  to  hide. 
Could  the  sightless,  sunken  eyes. 

Closed  beneath  the  soft,  white  hair, 
Could  the  mute  and  stiffened  lips 

Move  again  in  pleading  prayer, 
Still,  aye  still,  the  words  would  be — 

*'Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee." 


MY  SCHOOL. 

I  sat  in  the  school  of  sorrow; 

The  Master  was  teaching  there. 
But  my  eyes  were  dim  with  weeping 

And  my  heart  oppressed  with  care. 

Instead  of  looking  upward 
And  seeing  his  face  divine. 

So  full  of  tender  compassion 

For  weary  sad  hearts  like  mine. 

I  only  thought  of  the  "burden 

Of  tlie  cross,  tliat  iDefore  me  lay. 

The  clouds  tliat  hung  thick  above  me 
Darkenisng  tlh;e  Hightt  otf  day. 


So  I  could  not  learn  my  lesson 
And  say,  ''Thy  will  be  done;" 

And  the  Master  came  not  near  me 
As  the  leaden  hours  went  on. 

At  last,  in  despair,  I  lifted 

My  streaming  eyes  above. 
And  I  saw  the  Master  was  watching 

With  a  look  of  pitying  love. 

To  the  cross  before  me  he  pointed; 

And  I  thought  I  heard  him  say, 
''My  child,  thou  must  take  thy  burden. 

And  learn  thy  task  today. 

''Not  now  may  I  tell  the  reason; 

'Tis  enough  for  thee  to  know 
That  I,  the  Master,  am  teaching. 

And  appoint  thee  all  thy  woe." 

Then  kneeling,  the  cross  I  lifted, 
For  one  glimpse  of  that  face  divine 

Had  given  me  strength  to  bear  it. 
And  say,  "Thy  will,  not  mine." 

And  so  I  learned  my  lesson; 

And  through  the  weary  years 
His  helping  hand  sustained  me. 

And  wiped  away  my  tears. 

And  ever  the  glorious  sunlight 

From  the  heavenly  home  streams  down. 

Till  the  school  tasks  all  are  ended 

And  the  cross  exchanged  for  the  crown. 


Mr.   Deese,  if  you   pleaso, 

Let  Mr.  Horn,  have  some  corn, 

Charge  the  amount,  to  my  account, 
And  in  the  fall,  I'll  pay  it  all; 
Yours   truly,   Henry   Dooley. 


66. 


t< 


Picked  up  Here  and  There/' 


A  DRUMMER'S  DREAM. 

'  ''I  am  not  a  strong  believer  in  dreams,'* 
the  drummer  remarked  as  he  drew  his 
chair  up  closer  to  the  stove,  but  I  can  tell 
you  a  little  circumstance  that  happened  a 
few  years  ago,  which  has  remained  a  mys_ 
tery  to  me  to  this  day. 

' '  I  have  ben  traveling  for  a  large  whole- 
sale drug  company  in  St  Louis  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  and  I  have  met  patrons.  On 
my  run  in  the  southwest,  I  had  one  very 
particular  old  friend  whom  I  will  call 
Brother  Benton,  because  everybody  in  this 
section  calls  him  by  that  name.  He  nearly 
always  had  an  order  for  me,  but  whether 
he  did  or  not  I  always  felt  better  after 
having  made  my  call,  on  account  of  his 
cheerful  ways  and  pleasant  words.  T  could 
only  see  my  customers  twice  a  year  at  best, 
and  I  looked  forward  to  my  visit  to  this 
old  customer  as  one  of  my  best  days. 

' '  On  one  visit  I  sold  him  a  much  larger 
bill  than  he  ever  made  before,  but  I  did 
not  hesitate  to  recommend  the  house  to 
fill  the  order.  I  had  learned  that  he  was 
universally  loved  and  respected  in  his  own 
town  as  a  sincere  'Christian.  He  would  not 
keep  ardent  spirits  nor  would  he  hear  for 
one  minute  of  giving  space  in  his  house 
for  tobacco  in  any  shape.  'My  Bible,'  said 
he,  condemns  both  whiskey,  and  tobacco 
and  T  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  them.' 
No  amount  of  persuading  or  liberal  terms 
and  discounts  could  induce  him  to  deviate 
from  this  rule. 

' '  About  six  months  after  I  had  sold  him 
the  large  bill  I  was  notified  by  the  house 
that  the  bill  was  unpaid,  and  that  I  should 
call  as  soon  as  possible  and  collect  it.  I 
hastened  over  my  territory  and  called  in 
person  to  see  after  the  matter.  I  found  a 
new  face  behind  the  counter  and  I  learned 
that  a  short  time  after  I  sold  the  bill  my 
old  friend  had  taken  smallpox  and  he  and 
his  family  had  been  under  quarantine  for 


a  long  time.  His  sickness  had  lasted  sev- 
eral months,  and  he  was  still  confined  to 
his  home.  I  did  not  see  him,  but  he  sent 
me  word  that  the  matter  would  come  out 
in  the  end.        ' 

''To  make  a  long  story  short,  he  had 
-suffered  more  losses  than  he  thought,  and 
six  months  went  by  and  still  the  bill  was 
not  paid.  I  wrote  to  the  house  and  told 
them  the  condition  of  affairs  and  thejr 
were  holding  proceedings  against  him. 

' '  Six  months  went  by  again,  and  I  was 
ordered  to  go  at  once  and  collect  the  bill 
or  enter  suit.  I  had  but  one  thing  to  do, 
though  r  confess  I  had  some  rebellions 
thoughts.  The  night  before  I  arrived  at 
his  town  I  spent  several  weary  hours  roll- 
ing and  tossing  on  my  bed,  trying  to  con- 
trive some  plan  to  avoid  closing  out  my 
old  friend.  He  lived  some  eight  miles  from 
the  railroad,  and  I  should  see  him  on  the 
morrow.  I  knew  that  if  I  brought  suit 
that  in  all  probability  others  would  do  the 
same,  and  a  good  man  would  go  to  the 
wall  for  no  fault  of  his  own.  "While  toss- 
ing on  my  bed  I  must  have  fallen  asleep. 
I  thought  that  I  had  called  upon  my  old 
friend,  and  we  were  sitting  in  his  family- 
room,  with  all  his  family  about  him.  He 
turned  to  me  and  said:  'We  are  just  about 
to  have  our  morning  prayers,  and  we  shall 
be  glad  to  have  you  join  us.'  I  replied, 
'With  pleasure.'  He  announced  that  he 
would  read  the  twenty-third  Psalm.  He 
began  to  read,  but  I  was  astonished  at  the 
words  I  heard.  I  had  learned  that  psalm 
in  Sunday  school  when  a  boy,  and  while 
I  had  not  read  my  Bible  as  much  as  I 
should  have  done,  still  I  will  never  forget 
that  'the  Lord  is  my  shepherd.' 

"The  words  were  read  in  a  round,  clear 
voice,  and  my  heart  rejoiced,  though  I  had 
heard  it  that  way  before.     He  read: 

"  'The  Lord  is  my  banker;  I  shall  not 
fail.     He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  on  gold' 


(( 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.' ' 


67. 


mines.  He  giveth  me  the  combination  of 
Lis  tills.  He  restoretti  my  credit.  He 
showeth  me  how  to  avoid  lawsuits  for  his 
name 's  sake.  Yea,  though  I  walk  in  the 
very  shadow  of  debt,  I  will  fear  no  evil; 
for  thou  art  with  me;  thy  silver  and  thy 
gold  they  rescue  me.  Thou  preparest  a 
way  for  me  in  the  presence  of  my  col- 
lector. Thou  fillest  my  barrels  with  oil; 
my  measure  runneth  over.  Surely  good- 
ness and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the 
days  of  my  life,  and  I  will  do  business  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord.' 

^'Having  read  this  Scripture  he  knelt 
down  and  prayed.  I  thought  I  had  never 
heard  such  a  prayer  in  ail  my  life.  He 
fairly  took  my  breath  from  me  when  he 
asked  his  Heavenly  Father  to  bless  me,  his 
friend. 

'^With  his  amen  I  awoke  with  a  start. 
I  concluded  I  would  call  on  my  old  friend 
early  in  the  morning  at  his  own  home.  I 
arose  in  time  to  procure  a  team  and  was 
knocking  at  his  door  just  as  the  sun  was 
coming  over  the  eastern  horizon.  He  met 
me  at  the  door  with  a  hearty  handshake 
and  said:  'come  right  in.  We  are  just 
going  to  have  morning  prayers,  and  .we 
will  be  glad  to  have  you  join  us.'  He 
took  m.e  into  the  room  and  introduced  his 
wife  and  children.  He  took  up  his  Bible 
and  said,  '  We  will  read  the  twenty-third 
Psalm'  He  read  it  in  a  clear  voice,  but 
read  it  as  it  is  written  in  the  Book.  I 
cannot  tell  you  my  felings  and  thoughts 
while  he  read.  We  then  knelt  in  prayer, 
and  he  humbly  made  known  his  wishes, 
but  it  did  not  sound  like  the  one  I  heard 
in  my  dream,  though  he  appeared  to  go 
over  the  same  thought.  He  told  the  Lord 
that  he  owed  some  money,  and  that  it  was 
past  due,  and  he  asked  that  a  way  might 
open  for  him  to  pay  it  that  very  day.  He 
then  prayed  for  me,  and  while  on  my  knees 
I  resolved  that  for  one  time  in  my  life  I 


would  disobey  orders. 

''After  prayers  we  both  went  direct  tcx/ 
the  drug  store  and  as  we  .entered  the  door 
a  young  man  met  us  and  said:  ''Brother 
Benton,  father  sent  me  over  this  morning 
to  tell  you  that  he  would  take  that  house 
and  lot  you  spoke  to  him  about  a  few  days 
ago.  He  told  me  to  hand  you  this  money 
and  that  he  would  pay  the  balance  on  de- 
livery of  the  deed.' 

"The  old  man  received  the  roll  of  bills 
and  tears  began  to  roll  down  his  cheeks  as 
he  turned  away.  He  wrote  the  young  maa 
a  receipt  for  the  money  and  gave  it  to 
him.  He  then  turned  to  his  ledger  and 
began  to  figure.  He  turned  to  me  and 
said,  'Will  you  please  receipt  this  state- 
ment?" I  saw  that  lie  had  added  all  the 
past  interest  on  the  bill.  I  told  him  I  was 
ordered  by  the  house  to  remit  the  interest. 
He  declined  to  receive  it  and  said  he  de- 
sired to  pay  all  of  his  just  debts.  I  took 
the  money  and  sent  it  in.  The  house 
wrote  hrm  a  very  complimentary  letter, 
thanking  him  for  the  remittance.  In  a 
great  measure  my  dream  came  to  pass. 

"At  the  time  I  was  tossing  on  my  bed 

my  old  friend  was  on  his  knees  in  his  closet 
pleading  with  his  Banker  for  a  loan,  I 
am  very  much  gratified  to  knoj^  that  he 
got  it,  and  ever  since  in  all  my  discourage- 
ments I  apply  the  twenty.third  Psalm  as 
the    remedv. " — Selected. 


TIME  BRINGS  CHANGES. 

Man  wants  but  little  here  below, 
Nol  Goldsmith  sang  long  years  ago, 
But   Golby  living  now  would  find 
Good  cause  to  change  his  mind. 
For  were  he  writing  verse  today. 
With  Woman  Suffrage  on  the  way, 
He'd  change  his  line,  and  this  bestow: 
"Man '11  get  but  little  here  below." 

BILLY  DOUX. 


68. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


AND   A  LITTLE   CHILD    SHALL  LEAD 
THEM. 

Some  said  she  had  ceased  to  love  him, 
Because   he   was  grave  and   old; 

And  he  in  his  jealous  passion 
Believed  the  tale  they  told. 

Some  said  they  knew  she  would  weary 

Of  being  an  old  man's  wife; 
After  gaining  the  wealth  she  longed  for, 

At  the  price  of  a  wasted  life. 

Some  said  an  old-time  lover 

Had  whispered  in  her  ear 
Words  that^no  faithful  woman 

"Would  ever  deign  to  hear. 

At  last  his  smothered  passion 

Broke  out  like  a  swift,  fierce  flame; 

And  his  words  were  cruelly  bitter 
When  his  hot  reproaches  came. 

She  heard  him  like  one  dreaming. 

And  then  her  face  grew  stern; 
And  her  head  was  lifted  proudly 

And  her  eyes  began  to  burn. 

**1  will  not  listen  longer 

To  Tyords  like  these!"  she  cried. 
"Never  a  woman  was  truer 

Since  men  have  lived  and  died. 

''Would  God  I  could  lay  before  you 

My  heart  for  your  eyes  to  read; 
You  would  find  me  true  and  faithful 

In  word,  and  thought,  and  deed. ' ' 
But  he  answered  her  coldly,  sternly, 

With  a  bitter  pain  at  heart; 
**The  paths   our  feet  must  follow 

Must  henceforth  lie  apart. 

•''If  you  weighed   my  wealth   in   the   bal- 
ance 

Against  the  hand  you  sold, 
Tou  have  won  it,  and  I  give  you 

The  curse  of  coveted  gold. 


"It  will  curse  you  as  I  cannot, 

For  I  loved  you  as  my  life; 
Its  glitter  will  always  remind  you 

Of  the  man  who  called  you  wife. 

''But   our   child   shall   stay  beside   me; 

And  he  shall  never  be  told 
How  I  bought  you  in  the  market 

For  a  paltry  sum  of  gold. ' ' 

Then  he  turned  away  and  left  her; 

She  neither  stirred  nor  wept 
Till  in  across  the  threshold 

The   baby  Willie   crept. 

Then  the  mother.heart  within  her 

Broke  with  a  bitter  moan; 
And  she  fell  prone  before  him 

Like  a  figure  carved  in  stone. 

But  it  was  not  death's  white  stillness 
Which  kept  back  tears  and  cry; 

She  must  live  and  learn  to  suffer; 
Hearts  break,  but  cannot  die. 

Live,  and  miss  from  her  bosom 
The  child  she  loved  so  much; 

To  dream  in  the  awful  midnight 
She  could  feel  his  clinging  touch. 

And  hear  the  sound  of  his  footsteps 
At  the  side  of  her  lonely  bed; 

And  reach  out  her  hands  to  find  him, 
To  .find  but  air  instead. 

O  pity  her,  weeping  mothers. 

Who  miss  your  little  ones  so; 
Yours  out  of  reach  in  heaven; 
Hers  out  of  reach  below. 

There's  a  step  on  the  shadowy  threshold; 

Death's  at  the  open  door; 
A  life  is  going  heavenward 

To  come  back  nevermore. 


'^Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.' ' 


69. 


A  child  in  whose  hair  is  tangled 
The   gold   of   summers   three 

Is  drifting  out  of  earth-life 
Into  eternity. 

He  lies  on  the  old  man's  bosom, 
And  the  arms  which  hold  him  there 

Would  give  the  world  to  keep  him;. 
But  the  reaper  will  not  spare. 

''O  my  boy!"  the  old  man  whispers; 

And  his  eyes  are  wet  with  tears 
As  he  thinks  of  a  lonely  hearthstone 

And  lonlier,   drearier  years. 

There's  another  step   on  the  threshold, 
But   'tis  not  the  step  of  death; 

And  a  cry  of  joy  and  sorrow 
And  a  sob  in  every  breath. 

And  "My  baby!"  the  woman  utters 

In  a  tone  so  deep  with  love 
That  I  think  the  eyes  of  angels 

Grow  dim  with  tears  above. 

And  she  reaches  her  arms  out  empty 
"With  such  pleading  in  her  eyes 

Tliat  he  lays  upon  her  bosom 
This  flower  of  paradise. 

Oh,  the  rapture  that  comes  over  her 
When  she  feels  her  baby's  head; 

And  she  drops  the  sweetest  kisses 
On  the  cheek  whose  rose  has  fled. 

The  baby's  eyes  are  lifted 
To  his  mot"?ier's  face  a<;aln; 

And  "marnma"  he  faintly  whispers, 
And  his  cheeks  are  wet  with  rain. 

Oh,  that  face!  if  I  could  but  paint  it 
With   the   glory  X  of  its  love, 

The  touch  of  little  fingers, 
The   trembling   lip   above. 

The  old  man's  eyes  are  blinded 
With  the  tears  he  cannot  hide 

At  sight  of  the  dear  child's  mother, 
With  her  face  all  glorified. 


There's  another  step  on  the  threshold, 

Death  cannot  longer  wait; 
For  the  angels  at  the  sunset 

Will  close  the  heavenly  gate. 

There  in  the  solemn  silence 
The  last  long  kiss  is  given; 

And  the  angel  at  the  threshold 
Bears  back  a  flower  to  heaven. 

There's  a  deep  and. holy  silence 
'Eound  the  little  sleeper's  rest; 

But  the  mother's  face  is  glowing. 
For  he  died  upon  her  breast. 

The  old  man's  voice  is  broken 
As  he  kneels  beside  the  bed 

And  lays  his  hands,  all  trembling. 
On  the  little  shining  head. 


HELPFUL  THOUGHTS. 

While  some  with  talents  ten  begun. 

He  started  out  with  only  one. 

''With  this,"  he  said,"  ''I'll  do  my  best, 

And  trust  the  Lord  to  do  the  rest." 

His  trembling  hand  and  tearful  eye 

Gave  forth  a  word  of  sympathy. 

When  all  alone  with  one  distressed. 

He    whispered    words    that     calmed    that 

breast; 
And  little  children  learned  to  know. 
When  grieved  and  troubled,  where  to  go. 
He  loved  the  birds,  the  flowers,  the  trees, 
And,  loving  him,  his  friends  loved  these.. 
His  homely  features  lost  each  trace 
Of  homeliness;  and  in  his  face 
There  beamed 'a  kind  and  tender  light 
That  made  surrounding  features  bright; 
When  illness  came  he  smiled  at  fears. 
And  bade  his  friends  to  dry  their  tears. 
He  said  "Goodby, "  and  all  confess. 
He  made  of  life  a  grand  success. 

— Presbyterian  Journal.. 


70. 


C( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


THE  CHURCH. 

Hark!   the  church  proclaims  her  honor, 
And  her  strength  is  only  this: 

God  hath  laid  His  choice  upon  her, 
And  the  work  she  doth  is  His. 

He  His  church  Tiath  firmly  founded, 
He  will  guard  what  He  began; 

We  by  sin  and  foes  surrounded, 
Build  her  bulwarks  as  we  can. 

Frail  and  fleeting  are  our  powers, 
Short  our  days,  our  foresight  dim. 

And  we  own  the  choice  not  ours, 
We  were  chosen  first  by  Him. 

Onward,  then!  for  nought  despairing, 
Calm  we  follow  at  His  Word, 

Thus  through  joy  and  sorrow  bearing 
Faithful  witness  to  our  Lord. 

Though   we   here   must   strive   with   weak. 
ness, 

Though  in  tears  we  often  bend, 
What  His  might  began  in  meekness, 

Shall  achieve  a  glorious  end. 

— Selected. 


JOHN  T.  PULLEN. 

"    By  Ethel  Carroll  Squires. 
(A  loving  tribute  on  behalf  of  all  Mere- 
dith    students,   and     especially  the     Club 
Girls,  whose  friend  he   ever  was  in  word 
and  deed.) 

John  Pullen  dead     Not  so,  not  so! 

John  Pullen  lives  forevermore, 

Immortal;  bounded  by  no  shore, 
What  death  could  lay  his  spirit  lowf 

He  and  his  Master — still  they  roam 
Through  street  and  byway,  soft  to  call 
Wherever  sin  and  sorrow  fall 

Their  ever-loving:  Child,  come  home! 


John  Pullen  could  not  die — Ah  no! 

For  radiant  there  shone  in  him 

The  light  that  shadows  never  dim. 
Eternal  Light,  forever  glow 

Upon  these  darkened  ways  of  ours 
Where  tear-drops  fall  to  miss  a  hand 
Now  angel-clasped  in  yonder  land 

All  fragrant  with  celestial  flowers. 

O  long  before  he  to  the  gate 

Had  come,  they  spied  him  from  afar 
And  held  the  portals  wide  ajar. 

See  just  within  more  angels  wait 
To  bring  him  like  a  conqueror  come 

His  crown  to  wear!     And  from  the  throne 

His  Father's  voice,  so  often  known 
On  earth,  cries  softly:  Welcome  home! 

His   mother  comes — through   all  the  place 
A  silence  falls — those  he  has  won 
Come  forth  to  sing:  Thy  toil  is  done, 

Have  what  thou  wilt.    Upon  his  face ; 
O  send  me  back  to  paths  of  sin — 

When  once  my  long-time  fettered  tongue 

Has  sung  the  praise  on  earth  begun — 
To  bring  more  weary  wanderers  in! 


TWENTY  YEARS  AGO. 

I've  wandered  to  the  village  Tom,  I've  sat 

beneath  the  tree. 
Upon    the    schoolhouse    playgiound,    which 

sheltered  you  and  me; 
But  n6ne  were  left  to  greet  me,  Tom  and 

few  were  left  to  know, 
That  played  with  us  upon  the  green,  some 

twenty  years  ago. 

The  grass  is  just  as  green,  Tom;  barefoot- 
ed boys  at  play 

Were  sporting  just  as  we  did  then,  with 
spirits  just  as  gay; 

But  the  master  sleeps  upon  the  hill,  which, 
coated  o'er  with  snow. 

Afforded  us  a  sliding  place,  just  twenty 
years  ago. 


i  ( 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies/' 


71. 


The  boys  were  playing  some  old  game,  be- 
neath that  same  old  tree; 

I  have  forgot  the  name  just  now — you've 
played  the  same  with  me 

On  that  same  spot;  'twas  played  with 
knives  by  throwing — so  and  so; 

The  leader  had  a  task  to  do — there,  twenty 
years  ago. 

"The  river's  running  just  as  still;  the  wil- 
lows on  its  side 
Are    larger    than    they    were,    Tom;     the 
1  stream  appears  less  wide — 

■But   the    grapevine    swing   is    ruined   now, 

where  once  we  played  the  beau, 
-And   swung   our   sweethearts — pretty   girls 
— just  twenty  years  ago. 

The   spring  that  bubbled    'neath   the   hill, 

close  by  the  spreading  beech, 
Is  very  low — 'twas  once  so  high,  that  we 

could   almost   reach; 
And,  kneeling  down  to  get  a  drink,   dear 

Tom,   I    started    so. 
To    see    how    sadly    I    am    changed,    since 

twenty  years  ago. 

Near  by  the  spring,  upon  an  elm,  you  know 

I  cut  your  name. 
Your   sweetheart's   just   beneath   it,   Tom, 

and  you  did  mine  the  same; 
"Some  heartless  wretch  has  peeled  the  bark 

—  'twas  dying,  sure  but  slow. 
Just    as    that    one,    whose    name    you    cut, 

died  twenty  years  ago. 

My  lids  have  long  been  dry,  Tom,  but  tears 

came  in  my  eyes; 
1   thought   of   her   I   loved    so   well,   those 

early  broken  ties; 
I  visited  the  old  churchyard,  and  took  some 

flowers  to  strow 
Upon  the  graves  of  those  we  loved,  some 

twenty  years  ago. 


Some  are  in  the  churchyard  laid — some 
sleep  beneath  the  sea; 

But  few  are  left  of  our  old  class,  except- 
ing you  and  me; 

And  when  our  time  shall  come,  Tom,  and 
we  are  called  to  go, 

I  hope  they'll  lay  us  where  we  played,  just 
twenty  years  ago. 


JUST  SET  A  LIGHT. 

A  little  child  on  a  sick-bed  lay. 

And  to   death   seemed   very  ne^„r. 
Her  parents'  pride,  and  the  only  child 

Of  a  railroad  engi-ieer. 
His  duty  called  him  from  those  he  loved, 

From  his  home  whose  light  was  dimmed; 
While  tears  he  shed,  to  his  wife  he  said, 

^'I  will  leave  two  lanterns  trimmed." 

Chorus — 

'^Just  set  a  light  when  I  pass  tonight, 

Set  it  where  it  can  be  seen; 
If  our  darling's  dead,  then  show  the  red, 

If  she's  better,  show  the  green!" 
In  that  small  house  by  the  railroad  side, 

'Twas  the  mother's  watchful  eye 
Saw  a  gleam  of  hope  in  the  feeble  smile, 

As  the   train   went   rushing  by. 
Just  one  short  look,  'twas  his  only  chance, 

But  the  signal-light  was  seen; 
On  the  midnight  air  there  arose  a  prayer, 

''Thank  God!  the  light  is  green." 


OMISSIONS. 

It  isn't  the  thing  you  do,  deaf. 

It 's  the  thing  you  leave  undone 
That  gives  you  a  bit  of  a  heartache 

At  the  setting  of  the  sun. 
The  tender  word  forgotten; 

The  letter  you  did  not  write; 
The  flower  you  did  not  send,  dear. 

Are  your  haunting  ghosts  at  night. 


72. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


The  stone  you  might  have  lifted 

Out  of  a  brother's  way; 
A  bit  of  heartsome  counsel 

You  were  hurried  too  much  to  say; 

The  loving  touch  of  the  hand,  dear, 

The  gentle,  winning  tone 
Which  you  had  no  time  nor  thought  for 

With  troubles  enough  of  your  own. 

These  little  acts  of  kindness 

So  easily  out  of  mind. 
Those  chances  to  be  angels 

Which  we  poor  mortals  find — 
They  come  in  night  and  silence, 

Each  sad,  reproachful  wraith. 
When  hope  is  faint  and  flagging 

And  a  chill  has  fallen  on  faith. 

— Selected. 


FELLOWSHIP. 

When  a  man  ain't  got  a  cent, 

An'  he's  feeling  kind  of  blue. 
An'  the  clouds  hang  dark  and  heavy, 

An '     work     won 't     let      the      sunshine 
through. 
It's  a  great  thing,  O  my  brethren. 

For  a  fellow  just  to  lay 
His  hand  upon  your  shoulder 

In  a  friendly  sort  of  way. 
It  makes  a  man  feel  queerish; 

It  makes  the  teardrop  start, 
An'  you  sort  of  feel  a  flutter 

In  the  region  of  your  heart; 
You  can't  look  up  and  meet  his  eyes, 

You  don't  know  what  to  say. 
When  his  hand  is  on  your  shoulder 

In  a  friendly  sort  of  yfaj. 
Qh,  the  world's  a  curious  compound. 

With  its  honey  and  its  gall. 
With  its  cares  and  bitter  crosses; 

But  a  good  world  after  all. 
An '  a  good  God  must  have  made — 

Leastwise,  that  is  what  I  say 
When  a  hand  is  on  your  shoulder 

In  a  friendly  sort  of  way. 

— James  Whitcomb  Eiley. 


THE  TELEPHONE  GIRL. 

The  telephone  girl  sits  still  in  her  chair 
And  listens  to  voices  from  everywhere. 
She   knows   all  the   gossip,   she   knows   all 

the  news. 
She  knows  who  is  happy  and  who  has  the 

blues; 
She  knows  all  our  sorrows,  she  knows  all 

our  joys. 
She  knows  all  the  girls  who  are  '^  chasing 

the  boys." 

She  knows  all  our  troubles,  she  knows  of 

our  strife, 
She  knows  every  man  who  talks  mean  to 

his  wife; 
She   knows    every   time   we    are    out    with 

the  boys, 
She   knows   the    excuses   that    each   felloTT 

employs. 

If  the  telephone  girl  told  half  that  she 
knows, 

It  would  turn  our  friends  into  bitterest 
foes; 

She  would  sow  a  small  wind  that  would 
soon  be  a  gale. 

Ingulf  us  in  trouble  and  land  us  in  jail. 

SJie  would  start  forth  a  story  which,  gain, 
ing  in  force. 

Would  cause  half  our  wives  to  sue  for  di- 
vorce,     * 

She  would  get  all  our  churches  mixed  up 
in  a  fight, 

And  turn  our  bright  days  into  sorrowing- 
night; 

In  fact,  she  could  keep  the  whole  town  in 
a  stew, 

If  she  told- but  one-tanlh  of  the  things  that 
she  knew. 

Say,  kid,  but  doesn^t  it  mako  your  head 
whirl 

When  you  think  what  you  owe  to  the 
telephone  girl  I 

— From   Judge. 


^^ Gleanings  from  the  Gullies. 


ff 


73. 


JTJST  DROP  A  LINE  TO  MOTHER. 

By  Dan  Nicholas  Steidle,  Jr. 
Just  drop  a  line  to  mother,  boy;  remember 

she's  your  friend; 
You  know  she's  getting  old  and  gray  and 

hastening  toward   the   end. 
A  word  from  you  will  cheer   her  up   and 

make  her  old  heart  glad; 
She'd    know    you've    not    forgotten    her — 

drop  her  a  line  my  lad. 

When  you  were  but  a  little  child  she'd 
stroke  your  curly  head 

And  tell  you  how  she  loved  you;  don't  for- 
get the  words  she  said.         ' 

She'd  put  her  arms  around  your  neck 
whenever  you  felt  sad; 

She'd  always  kiss  your  tears  away. — drop 
her  a  line,  my  lad. 

You   took   your   sorrows   all    to    her,   she'd 

smooth  the  troubled  brow; 
She     always     chased    the     clouds     away — 

would  you  forget  her  now? 
She's  praying  for  you  every  day,  no  word 

from  you  she's  had; 
A  message   now   would   make   her    smile — 

drop  her  a  line,  my  lad. 

Perhaps  she  thinks  yon  are  lost  and  gone; 
that  she  is  all  alone; 

Brighten  her  up  with  a  little  note  as  re- 
ward for  what  she's  done; 

'Twould  lengthen  her  years  to  see  your 
face,  she'd  remember  her  little  tad; 

But  this  is  the  least  that  you  can  do — drop 
her  a  line,  my  lad. 

You'll  only  have  one  mother,  boy — no  one 

her  place  can  take; 
'Twill  be  too  late  when  she  is  gone;  write 

— just  for  her  sweet  sake! 
She'll  take  you  to  her  warm  heart  still  if 

you've  gone  to  the  bad; 
Don't  be  ashamed  to  call  her  name — drop 

her  a  line,  my  lad. 


MOTHER'S  WAY. 

Oft  within  our  little  cottage, 

As  the  shadows  gently  fall. 
While  the  sunlight  touches  softly 

One  sweet  face  upon  the  wall, 
Do  we  gather  close  together, 

And  in  hushed  and  tender  tone 
Ask  each  other's  full  forgiveness 

For  the  wrongs  that  each  have  done. 
Should  you  wonder  why  this  custom 

At  the  closing  of  the  day, 
Eye  and  voice  would  quickly  answer: 

"It  was  once  our  mother's  way." 

If  our  home  be  bright  and  cheery, 

If  it  hold- a  welcome  true. 
Opening  wide  its  door  of  greetin-g 

To  the  many — not  the  few; 
If  we  share  our  Father's  bounty 

With  the  needy,  day  by- day, 
'Tis  because  our  hearts  remember 

This  was  ever  mother's  way. 

Sometimes   when    our   hearts   grow  weary, 

Or  our  task  seems  very  long. 
When  our  burdens  look  too  heavy 

And  we  deem  the  right  all  wrong. 
Then  we  gain  a  new,  fresh  courage, 

As  we  rise  to  proudly  say: 
"Let  us  do  our  duty  bravely;  / 

This  was*  our  dear  mother's  way." 

Thus  we  keep  her  memory  precious. 
While  we  never  cease  to  pray 

That    at   last,   when   lengthening  shadows, 
Mark  the  evening  of  life's  day, 

They  may  find  us  waiting  calmly 
To  go  home  our  mother's  way. 


SURE. 

In   this  busy  old  world 
Of  hustle  and  pelf. 

If  you  want  to  get  yours 
Go  and  grab  it  yourself. 


74. 


a 


Picked  up  Here  and  There. ^^ 


REMEMBRANCE. 

I    remember,    I    remember,    in    the    house 

where  I  was  born, 
How  father  made  us  all  get  up  at  daylight 

every  morn; 
The  slice  of  cold  and  greasy  pork  upon  my 

breakfast  plate, 
The  muddy  coffee  that  I  drank,  the  soggy 

bread  I  ate. 
I  remember,  I  remember,  how  I  trudged  a 

mile  to  school. 
And  was  rapped  across  the  knuckles  if  I 

broke  the  slightest  rule; 
The   birch   above   the   teacher's    desk,   the 

lightning  in  his  eye; 
The  way  he  used  to  keep  me  in  till  stars 

were  in   the   sky. 

I  remember,  I  remember,  how  in  winters 

long  ago, 
I  woke  to  find  my  attic  bed  half  covered 

up  with  snow, 
And  how  the  home-made  socks  of  blue  that 

patiently  I  wore 
Were   knitted   &om   the   kind   of    stuff   in 

Nessus'  shirt  of  yore. 
I  remember,  I  remember,  how  we  sat  by 

candlelight 
And  vainly  tried  to  see  to  do  our  lessons 

overnight, 
And  how  before  the  glowing  hearth  from 

time  to  time  we  turned, 
Because,  alas!   our  backs  would  freeze  the 

while  our  faces  burned 

I  remember,  I  remember,  how  our  holidays 

were  few, 
And  father  always  found  some  chores  we 

had  to  stay  an(^  do; 
In  hoeing  corn  and  sawing  wood  we  got 

our  exercise, 
And  dad's  old  trousers  for  us  boys  were 

made  a  smaller  size. 
I  remember,  I  remember,  how  the  seasons 

came  and  went, 


And  we  helped  to  reap  the  harvests,  but 

we  never  got  a  cent. 
I  like  to  recollect  it  all  and  talk  of  it,  I 

vow. 
But   thank   the   Lord   with    all   my    heart, 

those  times  are  over  no-w*. 


MAKE   OTHERS  HAPPY. 

When  rain  beats  down  and  all  is  drear, 

As  often  is  the  way. 
With  happy  smile  I  will  recall 

What  Grandma  used  to  say: 
''Why  bless  your  heart,' it  doesn't  help 

To  let. the  tears  drip  too; 
Just  wipe  your  eyes  and  look  around, 

For  some  good  deed  to  do." 

With  glee  three  letters  she'd  repeat 

Just  M.  O.  H.  were  they; 
Yet  what  their  meaning  we  knew  not, 

For  did  we  ask,  she  'd  say ; 
''Why  that's  my. motto  and  I've  learned, 

The  very  wisest  plan 
Is  to  find  out  what  others  need. 

And  help  them  if  you  can!" 

With  each  success,  as  we  would  seek 

Some  helpful  art  to  do, 
We  found  that  cheering  other  lives 

Brightened  our  own  lives  too. 
I  told  her  this  one  day,  and  plead: 

"M.  O.  H.  please  make  clear." 
Then  smiling  sweetly,  she  replied: 

"Make  Others  Happy,  dear!" 

"When  stormy  days  give  you  the  blues. 

Just  help  to  set  things  right; 
Kind  acts  will  find  the  darkest  day 

With  sweetness  and  with  light. 
Look  up  the  real  unfortunates, 

And  ease  their  aches  and  pains, 
As  you  make  others  happy,  dear, 

You  just  forget  it  rains." 

— Selected. 


^'Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.'' 


75. 


FOR  LOVE'S  SAKE. 

Sometimes  I  am  tempted  to  murmur 

That  life  is  flitting  away, 
"With  only  a  round  of  trifles 

Filling  each  busy  day; 
Dusting  nook  and  corners, 

Making  the  house  look  fair, 
And  patiently  taking  on  me 

The  burden  of  women's  care. 

Comforting  childish  sorrow. 

And   charming  the   childish  heart 
With  the  simple  song  and  story 

Told  with  a  mother's  art; 
Seting  the  dear  home  table 

And    clearing   the    meal   away, 
And  going  on  little  errands 

In  the  twilight  of  the  day. 

One  day  is  just  like  another! 

Sewing  and  piecing  well 
Little  jackets  and  trousers, 

So  neatly  that  none  can  tell 
Where  are  the  seams  and  joinings 

Ah!  the  seamy  side  of  life 
Is  kept  out  of  sight  by  the  magic 

Of  many  a  mother  and  wife! 

And  oft  when  ready  to  murmur 

That  life  is  flitting  away, 
With  the  self -same  around  of  duties 

Filling  each  busy  day, 
It  comes  to  my  spirit  sweetly 

With  the  grace  of  a  thought  divine; 
^'You  are  living,  toiling,  for  love's  sake, 

And  the  loving  should  never  repine. 

*'You  are  guiding  the  little  footsteps 
In  the  way  they  ought  to  walk; 

You  are  dropping  a  word  for  Jesus 
In  the  midst  of  your  household  talk; 

Living  your  life  for  love 's  sake 
Till  the  homely  cares  grow  sweet, 

And  sacred  the  self-denial 

That  is  laid  at  the  Master 's  feet. 

— Margaret  E.  Sangster. 


MARY  AND  WILLIE. 

As  Mary  and  Willie  sat  by  the  seashore 

Their  last  farewell  to  take, 
Said  Mary  to  Willie,  ''You're  now  going 
to  sea, 
I  fear  that  my  fond  heart  will  break.'" 
"'Oh,  don't  be  despairing,"  young  Willie 
then  said, 
And  pressed  his  fair  maid  to  his  ^ide; 
'^My    absence    don't    mourn,    for    when    1 
return 
I'll  make  little  Mary  my  bride." 

Three    years    having    passed    without    any 
♦      news. 

As   Mary   stands   by   her   own   door. 
An   old  beggar   came  by  with   a  patch   on 
his  eye. 
And  did  for  her  pity  implore. 
''Fair  lady,"  cried  he,  "your  charity  be- 
stow, 
And  I'll  tell  your  fortune  beside; 
The  lad  whom  you   mourn   will   never   re- 
turn 
To  make  little  Mary  his  bride." 

''Oh,  if  it  be  true  you  tell  unto  me, 

My  Willie,  my  hero  still  lives! 
Oh,  if  it  be  true,  straightway  unto  you 

All  the  money  I  have  I  will  give." 
"He  is  living,"  quoth  he,  "all  in  poverty; 

He  haSibeen  shipwrecked  beside; 
He  '11  return  no  more  because  he  is  poor. 

To  make  little  Mary  his  bride." 

"May    the   heavens    above   know   the   joy 
that  I  feel, 

And  for  his  misfortune  I'll  mourn; 
He's  welcome  to  me  all  in  poverty, 

With  his  blue  jacket  tattered  and  torn." 
The  beggar  threw  by  the  patch  from  his 

eye. 

Likewise  the  crutch  from  his  side; 
Blue  jacket  and  trousers,  and  cheeks  like 
a  rose, 
Young  Willie  stood  by  Mary's  side. 


76. 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


** Forgive  me,  fair  lady!   forgive  me,"  he 
cried. 

"It  was  only  your  love  that  I  tried; 
To  the  church  we'll  away  before  close  of 
day, 

To  make  little  Mary  my  bride. 
IVe  money  in  plenty  and  riches  untold, 

I  never  was  shipwrecked  beside; 
In  coaches  we'll  roll  all  covered  with  gold, 

When  I  make  little  Mary  my  bride ! ' ' 

Eepeat  last  two  lines   of  each   stanza  for 
the  refrain. 


A  PRAYER. 

Heavenly  Father,  day  by  day. 
Lead  me  in  Thine  own  sweet  way; 
Teach  me  to  be  pure  and  true, 
Show  me  what  I  ought  to  do. 

When  in  danger,  make  me  brave, 
Make  me  know  that  Thou  canst  save. 
Keep  me  ever  by  Thy  side, 
Let  me  in  Thy  love  abide. 

When  I'm  tempted  to  do  wrong 
Make  me  steadfast,  wise  and  strong. 
And  when  all  alone  I  stand 
Shield  me  with  Thy  mighty  hand. 

When  my  heart  is  full  of  glee 
Help  me  to  remember  Thee; 
Happy  most  of  all  to  know 
That  my  Father  loves  me  so. 

When  my  work  seems  hard  and  dry 

May  I  press  on  cheerily; 

Help  me  patiently  to  bear 

Pains  and  hardships,  toil  and  care. 

May  I  do  the  good  I  know, 
Be  Thy  loving  child  below, 
And  at  last  go  home  to  Thee, 
Evermore  Thy  child  to  be. 

— Author  Unknown. 


THE  WISE  ONE. 

(From  the  New  York  World.) 
There  was  a  man  in  our  town, 

And  he  was  wondrous  wise; 
He  didn't  do  the  strenuous  life 

jSTor  go  the  pace  of  flies. 

He  didn't  hit  an  auto  up 

Until  he  caused  a  wreck 
From  which  they  later  picked  him  out 

¥7ith  broken  bones  or  neck. 

He  didn't  seek  the  upper  air 

In  ships  that  fly  around 
Until  they  drop  a  cog  and  drop 

Their    contents   to    the    ground. 

He  didn't  drive  a  rapid  horse 
That  loved  to  burn  the  road 

Until  it  ran  away  like  man 
And  smashed  its  wagon-load. 

He  didn't  buck  the  Wall  street  bunch 

As  either  bull  or  bear 
Until  he  'd  finished  up  with  it 

And  left  his  wad  down  there. 

He  didn't  blow  his  millions  on 
The  great  white  way  by  night, 

Nor  mix  up  in  the  social  whirl 
That  swipes  the  cash  all  right. 

He  didn  't  even  try  to  skip 
With  Brown 's  or  Jones '  wife ; 

But  bravely  sought  in   every  way 
To  live  the  simple  life. 

And  so  he  lived — until  one  day, 

Just  how  did  not  appear, 
A  street  car  caught  him  on  the  track 

And  ended  his  career. 

Beneath  the  sod  the  wise  one  rests; 

We  wipe  our  weeping  eyes 
j^nd  wonder,  in  a  town  like  ours. 

Why  should  a  man  be  wise? 


(( 


Gleaniyigs  from   the  Gullies. 


'  > 


11. 


MAN  AND  HIS  SHOES. 

How  much  a  man  is  like  his  shoes! 
For  instance,  both  a  sole  may  lose; 
Both    have    been    tanned;    both    are    made 

tight 
Bj  cobblers;  both  get  left  and  right, 
Both  ^  need  a  mate  to  be  complete. 
And  both  are  made  to  go  on  feet. 
They  both  need  heeling,  oft  are  sold. 
And  both  in  time  will  turn  to  mold. 
With  shoes  the  last  is  first;  with  men 
The  first  shall  be  the  last;  when 
The  shoes  wear  out  they're  mended  new. 
When    men    wear    out    they're    men    dead, 

too! 
They  both  are  trod  upon,  and  both 
Will  tread  on   others  nothing  loath; 
Both  have  their  ties,  and  both  incline, 
When  polished,  in  the  world  to  shine; 
And  both  peg  out     Now,  would  you  choose 
To  be  a  man  or  be  his  shoes? 


THE  FOOL'S  PSAYER. 

The  royal  feast  was  done;  the  king 

Sought  some  new  sport  to  banish   care, 

And  to  his  jester  called;  "Sir  Fool, 

Kneel  down  and  make  for  us  a  prayer. ' ' 

The  jester  doffed  his  cap  and  bells. 
And  stood  the  mocking  court  before; 

They  could  not  see  the  bitter  smile 
Behind  the  painted  grin  he  wore. 

He  bowed  his  head  and  bent  his  knee. 
Upon  the  monarch's  silken  stool. 

His  pleading  voice  arose:  '^O  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool! 

^'l<o  pity,  Loi'd,  could  change  the  heart 
From  red  with  wrong,  to  white  as  wool. 

The  rod  must  heal  the  sin,  but.  Lord, 
Be   merciful   to   me,   a   fool! 


"   'Tis  not  by  guilt  the  onward  swiwg 
Of  truth  and  right,  O  Lord,  we  stay; 

'Tis  by  our  follies  that  so  long 
We  hold  the  earth  from  Heaven  away. 

''These  clumsy  feet,  still  in  the  mire, 
Go  crushing  blossoms  wdthout  end; 

These  hard,  well-meaning  hands  w^e  thrust 
Among  thQ  heart-strings  of  a  friend. 

''The  ill-timed  truth  we  might  have  kept, 
Who    knows    how    sharp    it    pierced    and 
stung  f 

The  word  we  had  not  sense  to  say. 
Who  knows  how  grandly  it  had  rung? 

' '  Our  faults  no  tenderness  should  ask, 
The  chastening  stripes  must  cleanse  them 
all; 

But  for  our  blunders,  oh!  in  shame, 
Before  the  eys  of  Heaven  we  fall. 

"Earth  bears  no  balsam  for  m.istakes, 
Men   crown   the   knave   and   scourge   the 
tool 

That   did  his  will,  but   thou,  O  Lord, 
Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool!" 

The  room  was  hushed;  in  silence  rose 
The  king,  and  sought  his  gardens  cool, 

And  walked  apart  and  murmured  low, 
"Be  merciful  to  me,  a  fool!" 


A  PRAYER. 

Backward,  turn  backward,  oh  Time  in 
thy   flight. 

Give  us  a  girl  whose  skirts  are  not  tight. 

Give  us  a  girl  whose  charms,  many  or  few. 

Are  not  exposed  by  too  much  peekaboo. 

Give  us  a  girl,  no  matter  what  age, 

Who  won^t  use  the  street  for  a  vaude- 
ville stage. 

Give   us   a   girl   not   too   shapely   in   view; 

Dress  her  in  skirts  that  the  sun  can  't  shine 
through. 


78. 


i( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There." 


WHAT'S  COMING  TO  YOU. 

What's  the  use  to  worry 
Or  to  vex  your  soul 

Lest  the  merry  dealer 
Eaise  the  price  of  coal? 
Better  be  complacent 

Just  because  you  may 
Know  he  will  for  certain 

Do  it  anyway. 

What 's  the  use  to  borrow 

Trouble  in  advance, 
Knowing  it  will  hit  you 
When  it  gets  a  chance? 
Wait  its  grand  arrival 

To  get  truly  glum; 
Simple  logic  tells  you 

It  is  bound  to  come. 
Nothing  gained  by  fretting 

Or  by  feeling  blue; 
Only  makes  you  thinner 

If  reports   are  true. 
Wait  until  misfortune 

Hands  it  to  you  straight, 
You,  with  such  a  prospect, 

Can  afford  to  wait. 

Might  as  well  be  joyful 

And  to  sing  a  tune, 
Knowing  there  is  trouble 

Coming  pretty  soon. 
You  can  always  figure 

You  will  sure  be  hit 
And  from  every  quarter 

Get  the  worst  of  it. 


ACCORDING    TO    PRECEDENT. 

The  hen  that  cackles  loudest  may  not  lay 

the  largest  eggs; 
The  mule  that  kicks  the  hardest  may  not 

have  the  toughest  legs; 
The  tree  that  is  the  tallest  may  not  bear 

the   sweetest   fruit. 
And   the   girl  who  is   the  fairest   may  not 

wear  the  smallest  boot. 


The  man  whose  brow  is  highest  may  not 

always  know  the  most; 
The  hero  who  is  bravest  may  not  make  the 

loudest  boast; 
The  arm  that  is  the  strongest  may  not  have 

the    farthest    reach, 
And  the  man  who  talks   the  longest  may 

not  have  the  finest  speech. 

The  rose  that  is  the  reddest  may  not  have 
the  sweetest  scent; 

The  man  whose  strut  is  proudest  may  not 
be  most  prominent; 

The  woman  who  has  jewels  that  she  meas- 
ures by  the  peck 

May  not  have  the  slimmest  fingers  or  the 
most  delightful  neck. 

The  man  who  works  the  hardest  may  not 

draw  the  highest  pav,; 
The  one  with  deepst  knowledge  may  not 

have  the  most  to  say; 
But  the  man  who  is  the  most  modest  gets 

the  last  seat  in  the  rear, 
And  the   one  who   blows   his  bugle  is  the 

one  whom   people   hear. 


THE  SAND  MAN. 

A  Sand  Man  comes  in  our  tender  years, 

From  a  healthful  shore  he  hails; 
He  softly  creeps  and  he  throws  his  grains 

When  the  daylight  fades  and  fails. 
He  blinds  our  eyes  and  we  sail  away, 

Away  from  the  tiresome  land. 
To  voyage  far  on  the  pleasant  sea 

When  the  Sand  Man  gets  his  sand. 

A    Sand     Man    comes     in    our     pride    and 
strength, 

From  the  Dead  Sea  shore  he  hails; 
He  creeps  and  throwing  his  shining  gold 

Our  vision  he  swift  assails. 
We  shut  our  eyes  and  we  sail  away. 

Away  from  the  happy  land. 
To  voyage  far  on  the  bitter  sea 

Where  the  Sand  Man  gets  his  sand. 

y  — ^McLandburgh  Wilson, 


"Gleanings  from  the  Gullies." 


79. 


THE  VOLUNTEER   ORGANIST. 

By  William  B.  Gray. 

The  preacher  in  a  village  church  one  Sun- 
day morning  said: 
*Our   organist  is  ill  today,  will  some   one 

play  instead?" 
An    anxious   look    crept    o'er    the   face    of 

every  person  there, 
As  eagerly  they  watched  to  see  who'd  fill 

the  vacant  chair; 
A  man     then   staggered     down  the     aisle 

whose  clothes  were  old  and  torn, 
How  strange  a  drunkard  seemed  to  me  in 

church  on  Sunday  morn. 
But  as  he  touched  the  organ-keys  without 

a  single  word 
The  melody  that  followed  was  the  sweetest 

ever  heard.  ,  ,^ 

Chorus — 

The  scene  was  one  I'll  ne'er  forget  as  long 

as  I  may  live, 
And  just  to  see  it  o'er  again  all  earthly 

wealth  I'd  give; 
The  congregation,  all  amazed;  the  preacher 

old  and  gray; 
The    organ,   and   the    organist   who    volun. 

teered  to  play. 

Each   eye    shed   tears   within   that   church, 

the  strongest  men  grew  pale. 
The  organist  in  melody  had  told  his  own 

life's  tale; 
The  sermon  of  the  preacher  was  no  lesson 

to  compare 
With  that  of  life 's  example  who  sat  in  the 

organ   chair; 
And  when  the  service  ended  not  a  soul  had 

left  a  seat 
Except  the  poor  old  organist  who  started 

toward  the  street. 
Along  the  aisle  and  out  the  door  he  slowly 

walked  away. 
The  preacher  rose  and  spf tly  said     ' '  Good 

brethren,  let  us  pray." 


THE  HOBBLE   SKIRT. 

With  knees  that  were  weary  and  cramped, 

And  a  sigh  for  her  aching  feet, 
A  maiden  limped,  in  a  hobbled  skirt, 

'Mid  the  throng  in  the  crowded  street, 
Hop,  skip,  hop, 

O'er  sidewalk  and  gutter  and  dirt  I 
And  under  her  breath,  in  bitter  tones, 

She  sang  the  song  of  the  skirt. 

'Tor  the  sake  of  a  fad,"  she  groaned, 

'Tull  many  a  load  we  bear 
From  the  heels  of  our  death-trap  shoes 

To  our  mop  of  imported  hair; 
But  to  all  the  faddist 's  freaks. 

That  bind  and  harrow  and  hurt, 
There  has  never  been  one  by  half  so  bad 

As  the  fad  of  the  hobbled  skirt! 

Hop,  skip,  jump5  i   . 

As  we  dodge  the  automobiles!  '  ' 

Hop,  skip,  jump, 

As  we  flee  from  the  trolley's  wheels!     . 
Pain  and  discomfort  and  death! 

Death  and  discomfort  and  pain! 
And  I  sigh  for  the  day  when  ruffles  and 
pleats, 

Shall  come  into  their  own  again!" 

— The  Evening  World, 


BOOZE, 


^ 


A  bright  young  man  was  fond  of  booze ,^ 
He  drank  himself  and  friends  to  amuse,, 
And  drank  till  all  his  ''tin"  did  ooze;       ' 
Unfit  for  work,  and  so  oft  did  snooze, 
That   his  employer  "put   on  the   screws." 
And  he  at  last  his  job  did  lose.  ,' 

He  went  in  rags  and  soleless  shoes;  '    ' 

His  face  the  Devil  did  awfully  bruise. 
Opportunity  bright  he  would  not  use. 
Preferring  to  join  the  chain.gang  crews. 
The  love  of  God  he  did  abuse; 
Eejected  salvation's  Glorious  News, 
A  drunkard's  grave  and  hell  to  choose: 
All    for    the    love    of    that    old    blear-eyed 
boze. — A.  H.  T. 


80. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.' ^ 


YOU'LL  MISS  MOTHER  WHEN   SHE'S 
GONE. 

The  smiles  that  made  your  life  so  bright 

In  sunny  fair  and  childhood's   days, 
May  lose  their  sweet  and  tender  light, 

Ere  many  years  have  passed  away, 
Her  fond  caress,  her  words  so  dear, 

That  greeted  you  each  night  and  mourn. 
May  lose  their  sweet  and  joyous  light. 

You'll    miss    your    mother    when    she's 
gone. 


Chorus — 

Then  watch  o  'er  her  with  tender  care, 

With  kindness  all  her  days  adorn. 
No  other  love  is  half  so  dear; 

You'll    miss    your    mother    when    she's 
'  gone. 


She  watched  above  your  cradle-bed 

And  taught  your  childish,  prayer. 
Then  never  from  her  side  be  led. 

In  age  she  needs  your  loving  care. 
For  one  sweet  mother  heaven  gives, 

And  soon  from  earth  she  may  be  borne. 
Protect  and  love  her  while  she's  here, 

You'll    miss    your    mohther    when    she's 
gone. 


EXTENDED  CREDIT. 

He  stole  a  kiss; 
Said   the  pouting   miss; 
^'For  that  you'll  pay — 
On  judgment  day. ' ' 
^'By   jinks,"   said  he, 
^'If  you'll  trust  me 
Till  judgment   day 

I'll  steal  some  more. *"' 
And   ere,  they  say, 
She   slipped  away, 

He  stole  a  score. 


SOMETIME,   SOMEWHERE. 

J.  D.  Alexander. 

What  though  the  way  be  long  and  drear, 
And   dark   clouds    'round   me   linger   near? 
A  still  small  voice  I  ever  hear 
That  to  me  whispers,  'Do  not  fear, 
Sometime,      somewhere,    thou      shalt    find 

rest — 
Oh  weary  wanderer — with  the  blest; 
Keep  on  thy  way,  look  up,  not  down. 
And  thou  shalt  find  thy  home  and  crown, — 
Thy  home  where  reigns  eternal  joy. 
And  naught  shall  enter  to  annoy." 


Then  why  should  I  despondent  be 
Since  God,  through  love,  hath  promised  me 
A  home  in  which  I  shall  have  rest. 
And  shall  for  evermore  be  blest! 
Or  why  should  I  desire  to  cling 
To  things  that  leave  a  bitter  sting,  ' 
Since   God  sometime,  somewhere  will  give 
A  home  with  joy  in  which  to  live; — 
A  home  wher  sorrows  are  forgot^ 
And  Sin  and  Death  shall  enter  not? 


What  though  forsaken  I  may  be 

By  friends  whose  love  should  shelter  me. 

And  I  a  wanderer  far  away. 

Where  none  but  strangers  bid  me  stay? 

It  matters  not,  God  will  receive, 

So  hath  He  said,  and  I  believe; 

And  when  or  where,  it  matters  not. 

For  I  am  sure  I'm  not  forgot: 

Yea,  I'm  persuaded  He'll  provide 

A  home  where  love  and  joy  reside. 


The  joy  of  every  kiss  is  tinged  with  sad- 
ness for  her  by  the  haunting  fear  that 
some  day  his  lips  will  be  pressed  as  fondly 
against  those  of  another  woman. 


''^Gleanings  from  the  Gullies/' 


81. 


MOTHER. 

(Sunset  Magazine.) 

When  I  bin  swimmin '  all  dav  long, 

An'  had  a  fight  or  two, 
An'  come  home  in  the  ev'nin'  time 

A-feelin'  mad  and  blue; 
There's  just  one  thing  that  always  seems 

My  angry  thoughts  to  smother; 
An'  I  fergit    'em  when  I  see 

The  smilin'  face  of  mother. 

An'  father  sez  when  he  comes  home 

From  troubles  on  the  street; 
He  sez  that  gentle  smile,  it  makes 

The  whole  blame  world  look  sweet. 
An'  Carlo's  dog  talk  sez  so,  too, 

An'  so  does  sis  and  brother; 
I  tell  you  they  ain't  nothin'  like 

The  smilin'  face  of^rmother. 
It  kinder  brightens  every  place, 

An'  I  know  what  I  know, 
That  when  I  die  and  go  away — 

Coz  we  all  have  to  go — 
I'll  need  one  proof  to  show  me  where 

I'm  at,  don't  need  no  other, 
I'll  know  it's  heaven  when  I  see 

The  smilin '  face  of  mother. 


A  treasure-house  I  find  God's  Word,  with 

all  its  contents  free; 
And,  reaching  forth,  I  take,  and  say,  ''The 

Lord  meant   this  for  me. ' ' 
And  for  my  faith  what  joys  are  given,  true 

peace  and  love  and  life  and  heaven! 

I  find  God's  Word  a  river  deep,  no  ripple, 

yet  a  tide; 
I    launch    my    bark    and    glide    away,    my 

Saviour  e'er  my  guide; 
And    sweet    the    comfort,    sweet    the    rest, 

while     sailing     toward     the     haven 

blest. 

—George  Whitfield  D  'Vys. 


WHEN  I  GET  TIME. 

When  I  get  time — 

I  know  what  I  shall  do: 
I'll  cut  the  leaves  of  all  my  books 

And  read  them  through  and  through. 

When  I  get  time— 

I'll  write   some  letters   then 
That  I  have  owed  for  weeks  and  weel^ 

To  many,  many  men. 


A  RECITATION. 

A  wondrous  tree  I  find  God's  Word,   and 

'neath  it  day  by  dfiy 
I  take  the  fruit  that  gives  me  strength  to 

bear  me  on  life's  way; 
A   stately   tree    so    large    and   tall    there's 

■shelter,  rest,  and  food  for  all. 

A  telescope   I   find   God's   Word;   and,   be 

«kies  dark  or  clear, 
This  trusty  instrument  reveals  God  and  my 

Saviour   dear, 
While    mirrored    daily    on    my    heart    are 

splendorsr  that  can  n^  'ex  depart. 


When  I  get  time — 

I'll  pay  those  calls  I  owe. 
And  with  those  bills,  those  countless  bills, 

I  will  not  be  so  slow. 

When  I  get  time — 

I'll   regulate   my  life 
In  such  a  way  that  I  may  get 

Acquainted  with  my  wife. 

When  I  get  time — 

Oh,  glorious  dream  of  bliss! 
A  month,  a  year,  ten  years  from  now — 

But  I  can't  finish  this — 

I  have  no  time.  — Selected. 


82 


I  ( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'- 


THINGS  YOU  SHOULD  KNOW. 

Young  and  old  you  ought  to  know 
How  children  M'^ere  raised  fifty  years  ago 
Barefooted  they  would  go  to  school 
To  learn  their  books  and  obey  the  rule. 

When  daylight  came  they  rose  from  bed, 
They  obeyed  every  word  their  parents  said; 
To  feed  and  milk  they  then  were  sent 
To  obey  all  things  they  were  intent. 

'They  then  were  off,  basket  on  arm, 
They  said  or  done  no  one  no  harm, 
No  tin  buckets  they  had  to  tote — 
Barefooted, 
coat. 


blue     speller,     sometimes     no 


Two  or  three  miles  they  had  to  walk, 

But  lost  no  time  in  play  or  talk, 

But  straightforward  went  with  basket  and 

book 
To    the    old    log    school-house    across    the 

brook. 

They  hung  their  coats  and  shawls  on  pegs 
And  went  to  the  fire  to  warm  feet  and  legs, 
Frostbitten  feet,  no  shoes  or  socks, 
They  wore  homemade  pants  and  homemade 
frocks. 

Then  all  would  stand  up  in  a  ring, 
To  spell  by  heart  was  a  great  big  thing; 
To  hear  a  hard  word  go  all  around. 
Whoever  spelled  it  turned  the  others  down. 

Then  would  come  a  short  recess. 
To  comb  the  hair  and  fix  the  dress. 
And  then  come  in  again  to  books. 
And  greet  the  teacher  with  pleasant  looks. 

Then  the  house  did  fairly  roar, 

Large    cracks   in    the    side   with    only   one 

door 
But  the  scholars  we    called  them   in   that 

day 
Never  went,  out  till  the  teacher  would  say: 


"Dismiss  for  dinner,  get  your  bonnets  and 

hat 
Eat  your  meals,  play  round  town  and  eat;" 
No  baseball  bats  were  used  them  days,. 
But   good   amusing   country  plays.. 

Everything  went  lovely  in  them  days,. 
Children  were  not  allowed  their  ways, 
For  when  the  teacher  dismissed  at  night 
Every     child    pushed     home    with     all   Ms 
might. 

Ik)  help  their  parents  do  up  the  things. 
While  the  voice  of  fowls  and  cattle  rings^ 
Turkeys,  geese  and  flocks  of  ducks. 
Guineas  potrack  and  whippoorwills  eliaek^ 

When  all  was  fed,  to  the  house  they  gof 
Where  mother  was  working  with  cotton  or 

tow. 
To  make  her  husband  and  children  clothes. 
Till  the   clock   struck  ten,  her  wheel  and 

cards  goes. 

When   Sunday   came  these  boys  and  girls 
Dressed  up,  but  had  no  bangs  or  curls, 
They  went  in  plain  old  country  style. 
And  always  met  you  with  a  smile. 

Then  on  the  Sabbath,  these  plain  folks  all,.. 
Went  without  umbrella  or  parasol. 
Instruction   from    preachers   they   went   ta 

gain, 
From  evil  their  lips  they  did  refrain. 

When  the  preacher  gave  out  the  hymn  to 

sing. 
The  log-house  churches  would  fairly  ring,. 
They  stood  up  to  sing  and  knelt  to  pray. 
In  them  good  old  bygone  days. 

Oft  times  they'd  get  happy  and  shout 
And  praise  the  Lord  all  along  the  route. 
Old  time  religion  they  did  possess. 
And  did  not  shout  to  show  their  dress. 


*^  Gleanings  from   the  Gullies. 


'  f 


83. 


No    buggies    or    bicycles    were    used    thoss 

days, 
But  they  rode  to  church  in  different  ways, 
Some  in  wagons,  some  on  horseback. 
But  none  were  seen  in  a  two-horse  hack. 

They  would  hitch  their  horses  in  the  shade, 
And    their    honest    debts    they    kept    them 

paid. 
And  I  would  have  you  all  to  plainly  know 
That's  the  way  things  worked  fifty  years 

ago. 

But  what  a  change  has  taken  place, 

In  every  home,  in  every  place, 

At  school,  at  church,  in  country,  in  town, 

It  seems  all  things  have  turned  around. 

You  meet  a  boy  on  the  street. 
Knee  pants,  plug  hat,  fine  shoes  on  feet. 
Short  dresses  on  girls  you  know  it's  so, 
It  was  not  that  way  fifty  years  ago. 

You  see  them  now  with  a  satchel  of  books 
With    proud    and    haughty    and    scornful 

looks. 
The  teacher's  now  they  have  no  rules, 
Instead     of  manners,     they're  raised     up 

fools. 

About  four  hours  is  all  they  teach 
Per  day;  the  poor  they  hardly  ever  reach. 
Once  a  day  is  about  all  they  recite 
And  dismiss  two  hours  before   'tis  night. 

And  now  when  you  go  on  preaching  day 
To  hear  what  the  preacher  has  to  say, 
Pride  and  the  Devil  comes  in  too 
And  you  hardly  can  get  a  pleasant  pew. 

In  the  Amen  corner  you  see  a  few 
All  seated  on  a  cushioned  pew, 
I  And  when  the  preacher  reads  his  song 
Then  you  hear  this  musical  throng. 


When  the  song  is  sung  the  preacher  will 

say: 
'^The      congregation     please      stand     and 

pray!" 
Oh!  my,  Oh!   me,  it  was  not  so 
In  the  log  house  church  fifty  years  ago. 

About  the  hour  the  service  is  o'er 
Then  they  make  a  rush  for  the  door. 
Arm  in  arm,  girls  and  boys 
Expressing  their  eccentric  joys. 

If  a  person  feels  happy  and  wants  to  shout 
A  Presbyterian  will  lead  them  out. 
You  older  people  know  it 's  so, 
It  was  not  done  fifty  years  ago. 
The  Baptists  too,  whenever  they  meet 
Have  ceased  to  wash  each  others  feet, 
The  Methodists,  last,  but  not  the  least, 
Hold  no  Class  Meetings  and  Love  Feast. 

Things  now-a-days  travel  on  by  steam, 
Men  ride  on  plows  and  guide  the  team, 
Electric  cars  and  electric  lights, 
And  many  curious,  wonderful  sights. 

To  attract  the  attention  of  old  and  young, 
Of  every  land  and  every  tongue. 
Old  men  and  women  you  certainly  know 
It  was  not  that  fifty  years  ago 

The  people  them  days  had  good  horse  sense 
Used  no  barb  wire  to  build  a  fence, 
But    split    the    rails    and    ploughed    their 
And  did  not  tie  their  milk  cows  down. 

So  now  you  see  the  way  things  goes, 
Children,  better  than  grown  folks,  knows. 
They'll  dispute  your  words,  and  you  well 

know. 
They  did  not  do  it  fifty  years  ago. 

I  wrote  this  poem  on  Easter  Day, 

While   the   little   birds   poured  forth   their 

lay, 
April,  Nineteen  Hundred  and  One, 
The  7th  day,  I'm  nearly   done. 


84. 


( ( 


Picked  itp  Here  and  There." 


And  now  I  hope  all  those  who  read 
These  few  verses  will  take  heed 
To  what  old  greyhead  has  to  say 
About    young    folks    having    things    their 
way. 

Behold  what  things  have  come  to  pass 
These  days  among  the  common  class, 
As  soon  as  children  can  lisp  and  walk 
They  are  first  to  the  table  and  lead  in  talk. 

There  they  wring  and  twist  about 
And  almost  run  their  parents  out. 
When  the  meals  are  ready  they  rise  and  go, 
It  was  not  thus  fifty  years  ago. 

They  think  it  manly  to  curse  and  swear, 
In  the  presence  of  mothers  who  have  it  to 

bear 
And  gamble  and  drink  you  older  ones  know 
They  did  not  do  it  fifty  years  years  ago. 

And  now  if  any  one  can  add 
Anything  to  this  poem  I  would  be  glad 
For  people  are  changing  every  day, 
Each  fellow  wants  everything  in  his  way. 

The  Almighty  Dollar  makes  things  go, 
If  you  have  that  you  are  Mister  So-and-So, 
If  you  have  it  not,  mark  what  I  say. 
You  son-of.a-gun,  get  out  of  the  way. 

Money  bribes  the  whole  affair, 
From  peasant  to  the  millionaire, 
Lawyers,   doctors,  other  professions  too. 
It's  not  confined  to  just  a  few. 

So  now  I  close,  and  ask  you  true. 

Does  anything  here  not  suit  you, 

If  what  I  have  wrote  you  find  not  so 

Just  say  they  knew  nothing  fifty  years  ago. 

So  now  I  bid  my  readers  adieu, 

Pay  me  a  nickel  and  read  it  through, 

And  if  you  are  not  satisfed. 

Just  say  the  old  man  certainly  lied. 

— G-  D.  STUTTS. 


WHO  STARTED  IT? 

(McCall's  Magazine.) 

A  litle  fellow  who  had  just  felt  the  hard 
side  of  the  slipper  turned  to  his  mother  for 
consolation, 

*<  Mother,**  he  asked,  "did  grandpa 
thrash  father  when  he  was  a  little  boy?" 

'^Yes, "  answered  his  mother,  impres- 
sively. 

"And  did  his  father  thrash  him  when  he 
was  little?" 

"Yes.': 

"And  did  his  father  thrash  him?" 

"Yes." 

A  pause. 

"Well,  who  started  this  thing  anyway?" 


When  George  M.  Cohan  was  in  the  South 
not  long  ago,  he  stepped  into  a  small 
church  one  Sunday  morning  where  a  new 
minister  was  delivering  his  first  sermon. 
The  sermon  was  eloquent  and  his  prayers 
seemed  to  cover  the  entire  category  of 
human  wants.  The  janitor  was  an  old 
darkey  whom  Cohan  knew  very  well. 

After  the  services  as  Cohan  was  com- 
ing out  of  the  church  he  asked  the  old 
darkey  what  his  opinion  was  of  the  new 
minster. 

''Don't  you  think  he  offers  up  a  fine 
prayer,  Eb?"  asked  Cohan. 

"Ah  mos'  surtainly  do,  sir,"  replied  the 
old  fellow,  "Why  that  man  axed  de  good 
Lord  fo'  things  dat  de  odder  preacher 
didn't  even  know  He  had!" 


IMPUDENCE 

Peggy — Only  to  think  of  it,  my  dear,  we 
were  entirely  alone,  and  he  had  the  audac- 
ity to  kiss  me. 

Lucy — I  suppose  you  were  furious; 
weren't   you? 

Peggy — I  should  say  so!  I  was  furious 
every  single  time  he   did  it. 


<i 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.'' 


85. 


DOWN  BY  THE  OLD  MILL  STREAM. 

In  a  path  that  leads  down  by  the  old  mill 
stream 
Two  sweethearts  were  standing  one  day; 
The    youth    vowed    his    love    would    never 
depart 
But  would  live  in  his  heart  always. 


The   maid  says^  ''Oh,  why  do  you   choice 

me  Jack? 
There  are  other  girls  just  like  me." 
But  the  answer  he  gave  was  a. sweetheart 

kiss,  ' 

And  he  whispered  so  tenderly. 

Chorus — 

''If  all  the  girls  were  like  you. 
This  world  would  be  paradise;     ' 

I  seem  to  see  a  soul  so  sweet 
When  I  gaze  into  your  eyes." 


THE  WISE  CHOICE. 

The  time  has  come  good  people, 
So  why  not  make   a  start; 

Just  give  your  lives  to  Jesus, 

That  He  may  cleanse  your  heart. 

He's  promised  in  His  word, 
And  that  you  plainly  see — 

"I  will  not  cast  you  out, 
If  you  will  come  to  me. ' ' 


Just  hear  Him  say  to  Zaccheus, 
"Make  haste  and  come  down; 

I  will  abide  with  thee 

While  I  'm  on  this  round. ' ' 


So  Zaccheus  stood  that  day; 

He  spoke  these  words  so  bold ; 
"If  I  have  wronged  anyone, 

I  restore  him  four-fold. ' ' 


"To  me  you  are  an  angel, 

Sent  her  from  Heaven  above; 
If  all  the  girls  were  like  you, 
You  would  still  be  the  girl  I  love." 


60  that  day  Zaccheus  took 
The  Saviour  home  with  him; 

The  pitcher  was   filled  with   water. 
Yes,  filled  up  to  the  brim. 


In  a  church  that  stands  down  by  the  old 

mill  stream. 
An  old  fashioned  wedding  took  place. 
With    a    stalwart    youth    and    a    handsome 

bride. 
As  he  gazed  on  her  beautiful  face. 

— Chorus. 

While    gently    his    arm    stole     'round    her 
waist, 
She  whispered  with   down   cast   e^yes: 
"You'll  fall  in  love  with    some   girl   like 


me 


J? 


But  this  was  his  honest  reply: 

— Chorus. 


So  Zaccheus  he  got  ready, 

He  crossed  old  Jordan's  tide, 

And  said  to  wife  and  children: 
"With  us  He  doth  abide, 

"We  are  on  our  way  to  Heaven, 
I'm  glad  this  way  we've  found; 

Oh,  Hallelujah,  to  Jesus, 

I  'm  walking  on  higher  ground. 

"So  when  we  reach  the  city, 
We'll  walk  the  golden  street, 

With  our  blessed  Eedeemer, 

Who  made  our  souls  complete." 


—J.  C.  S. 


86. 


(( 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.'' 


PUT   YOUR   TRUST   IN   HIM. 

When     you     are     all    alone,    and    feeling 

kinder  bad, 
Remember  there  is  one  that  can  make  you 

glad; 
Just  put  your  trust  in  Him,  I'm  speaking 

very  plain. 
He'll   drive   away  the   gloom,   and   relieve 

the  pain. 

There  a,re  people  in  this  world,  who  need 

a  word  or  song, 
To    make   them   start   to   think,    ^'Well,   I 

am  doing  wrong, 
I   have   lived   a   sinner,   I   know   I've   not 

done  right, 
Hut  now  I  have  decided  to  join  you  in  this 

fight. ' ' 

I  know  the  Lord  is  calling  for  me  and  all 

the  rest 
To  stop  our  sinful  ways,  that  we  may  be 

blessed. 
So     farewell    baseball    playing,    and    the 

movies  too, 
I'm  out  and  out  for  Jesus  and  I  am  going 

through. 

Now  listen   parents,  will  you?   to  what   I 

have  to  say. 
Our  children  and  our  neighbors  are  on  the 

downward  way; 
I  ask  this  question  plainly,  it's  up  to  me 

and  you: 
With  our  neighbors  and  children,  what  are 

we  going  to  do? 

I'll   tell  you  what  we   need,   and  you   all 

know  it's  true; 
We  need  the  old  time  power  that  took  our 

parents  through. 
So  let  us  come  together  and  one   another 

love, 
That  we  may  have  this  power  that  comes 

down  from  above. 


Then  we'll  be  in  sympathy,  with  those 
who  are'  cast  down; 

Our  smiles  will  make  them  happy  and  take 
away  the  frown, 

Then  we'll  join  together  and  make  the 
music  ring. 

With  alto,  base  and  tenor  to  our  Heaven- 
ly King. 

Then  when  we  reach  the  city  eternity  to 

spend, 
We'll  sing  the  song  of  redemption,  where 

time  will  never  end. 
So  remember  what  I've  wrote,  don't  put 

it  off  too  late. 
If   you   do    you'll   go   below   to   share   the 

awful   fate. 

—J.  C.  S. 


NEW  VERSION. 

There  is  a  boarding  house 

Not  far  away 
Where  they  have  ham  and  eggs 

Three  times  a  day. 
O,  how  the  boarders  shout 
When  they  bring  the  jewels  out, 
How  things  have  turned  about  ^ 

Three  times  a  day! 

There's  not  a  room  to  let 

Try  as  you  may; 
It's  an  exclusive  set. 

Three  times  a  day. 
0,  how  the  table  rings 
When  they  serve  those  tempting  things, 
Fit  now  for  queens  and  kings, 

Three  times  a  day! 

How  it  is  ever  done 

No  one  can  say; 
Think  how  the  bill  must  run 

Three  times  a  day! 
Eggs  sell  at  forty  cents, 
All  meat  bills  are  immense; 
My,  ain't  it  opulence. 

Three  times  a  day! 

— St.  Louis  Post-Dispatch. 


x< 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.'' 


87 


DREAMING. 

I  hate  to  read  of  millionaires, 

Because  such  reading  seems 
To  hypnotize  me  utterly 

And  start  me  dreaming  dreams. 
How  many  times  I  've  figured  out 

What  I'd  be  apt  to  do 
If  I  were  in  that  fellow's  place 

And  had  a;  million,  too. 
Of  course,  IM  use  my  fortune  well, 

More  sensibly  than  he 
For  I'd  give  ten  per  cent,  at  least, 

To  worthy  charity. 
Another  ten  per  cent  would  go 

To  help  along  a  few 
Of  our  deserving  relatives 

Whose  l^ills  are  overdue. 
And  then  my  duty  to  the  church; 

Of  course  a  goodly  share — 
Say,  twenty-five  per  cent  or  so — 

Would  be  devoted  there. 
I'd  give   this  latter    quietly. 

Insisting  that  my  name, 
Must  be  withheld,  that  none  might  know 

Whence  this  donation  came. 
I'd  only  let  the  pastor  know — 

He'd  have  to  know,  you  see — 
Hecause  my  name  upon  the  check 

Would  show  it  was  from  me. 
Another  twenty-five  per  cent 

Would  do  myself  and  wife; 
The  income  we  'd  derive  from  that 
Would  keep  us  both  for  life. 
Then,  after  that — well,  after  that 

I  dream  away  and  plan 
To  spend  still  other  ten  per  cents, 

To  help  my  fellow  man. 
And  finally  my  dreaming  gets 

A  bit  confused  and  then 
I  take  a  tumble  and  my  feet 

Touch  solid  earth  again; 
And  common  sense  assures  me,  as 

It  stops  me  with  a  jerk, 
I've  wasted  time  enough  to  do 

A  dollar's  worth  of  work. 


THE  FRESH  NIGHT  AIR. 

A  well  intentioned  friend  of  mine, 

Came   blithely   to   me. 
He  had  a  burden  on  his  heart 

As  any  one  could  see. 

'^I  notice  you  are  thin  and  lean 
And  scared  with  worldly  care; 

Why  don't  you  sleep  out  on  the  porch 
And  breathe  the  fresh  night  air?" 

And  so  I  slept  out  on  the  porch 

As  you  can  plainly  see — 
And  if  you  contemplate  the  same, 

O  pray  you  look  at  me! 

An  hour  or  two  I  gazed  on  high 

Enraptured  by  a  star. 
Then  slumbered  just  in  time  to  be 

Awakened  by  a  car. 

Again  I  dozed  a  wink  or  two, 
Then  awakened  with  a  start, 

A  drunken  man  was  asking  me 
''Where  is  the  water  cart?" 

And  just  as  I  dropped  off  again, 
To  dream  of  pumpkin  pies. 

Next  door  some  serenaders  sang 
''Drink  to  me  with  thine  eyes." 

They  quit  at  3  a.  m.  and  I 

Sighed,  "That's  the  last  of  that," 

Alas!    my  trusting,  guileless  heart 
Had  quite  forgot  the  cat. 

At  4:00  a.  m.  the  sun  arose 

And  smote  nay  dreaming  bean. 

He  sat  down  on  the  porch  with  me 
And  tickled  up  my  spleen. 

The  ice  man  came  in  at  5  a.  m., 

And  told  me  it  was  hot 
And  said  the  breweries  might  fail 

Bv  noon  as  like  as  not. 


88. 


ii 


PicJced  up  Here  and  There.' ^ 


At  6  the  youngster  bounded  out 

And  asked  me  how  I  felt; 
T  grabbed  a  loose  suspender  up 

And  walloped  him  a  welt. 

— St.  Paul  Dispatch. 


WANTED— A  MINISTER'S  WIFE. 

At  length  we  have  settled  a  pastor; 

I  am  sure  I  can't  tell  why 
The  people  should  grow  so  restless 

Or  candidates  grow  so  shy; 
But  after  a  two  years '  searching 

For  the  ' '  smartest ' '  man  in  the  land 
In  a  fit  of  desperation 

We  took  the  nearest  at  hand. 

And  really  he  answers  nicely 

To  ''fill  the  gap,"  you  know, 
To     run     the     machine     and     ''bring     up 
arrears ' ' 

And  make  things  generally  go; 
iHe  has  a  few  little  failings, 

His  sermons  are  commonplace  quite, 
But  his  manner  is  very  charming, 

And  his  teeth  are  perfectly  white. 


Wanted — a  thoroughbred  worker 

Who  well  to  her  household  looks 
(Shall  we  see  our  money  wasted 

By  extravagant,  ignorant  cooks?)' 
Who  cuts  the  daily  expenses 

With  economy  sharp  as  a  knife 
And  washes  and  scrubs  in  the  kitchenj 

Wanted — A  Minister's  Wife. 

A  very  ' '  domestic  person. ' ' 

To  callers  she  must  not  be  "out,"" 
It  has  such  a  bad  appearance 

For  her  to  be  gadding  about; 
Only  to  visit  the  parish 

Every  year  of  her  life 
And  attend  the  funerals  and  weddings  j 

Wanted — A  Minister 's  Wife,  ' 


To  conduct  the  "ladies'  meeting," 

The  "sewing-circle"  attend. 
And  when  we  "work"  for  the  soldiera 

Her  ready  assitance  lend. 
To  clothe  the  destitute  children  - 

Where  sorrow  and  want  are  rife, 
And  look  up  Sunday-school  scholars^ 

Wanted — A  Minister's   Wife. 


And  so  of  all  the  "dear  people"  ' 

Not  one  in  a  hundred  complains, 
For  beauty  and  grace  of  manner 

Are  so  much  better  than  brains; 
But  the  parish  have  all  concluded 

He  needs  a  "partner  for  life." 
Please  notice  our  advertisement, 

"Wanted — A  Minister's  Wife." 


Careful  to  entertain  strangers. 

Traveling  agents  and  ' '  such, ' ' 
Of  this  kind  of  "angel  visits" 

The  deacons  have  had  so  much  • 

As  to  prove  a  perfect  nuisance 

And  ' '  hope  these  plagues  of  their  life- 
Can  be  sent  to  the  parson's; 

Wanted — ^A  Minister's  Wife. 


Wanted — a  perfect  lady. 

Delicate,  gentle,  refined, 
With  every  beauty  of  person 

And  every  endowment  of  mind; 
Fitted  by  early  culture 

To  move  in  fashionable  life. 
To  shine  a  gem  in  the  parlor; 

Wanted — A  Min,ister's  Wife. 


A  perfect  pattern  of  prudence 

Than  all  others  spending  less^. 
But  never  disgracing  the  parish' 

By  looking  shabby  in  dress; 
Playing  the  organ  on  Sunday 

Would  aid  our  laudable  strife^. 
To  save  the  society  money; 

Wanted — A  Minister's  Wife„ 


it 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.' ' 


80 


And  when  we  have  found  the  person 

We  hope  by  wovkir.t^  the  two 
To  lift  our  debt  and  build  a  new  church, 

Then  we  shall  know  what  to  do, 
For  they  will  be  worn  and  weary, 

Needing  a  change  of  lifo, 
And  we  advertise — Wanted, 

A  Minister  and  his  Wife. 


Always  singing  of  Jesus,  singing  the  live 

•long  day; 
Always    singing    of    Jesus,    treading    the 

narrow  way; 
Always  singing  of  Jesus  Jesus  of  Galilee; 
Always   singing  of  Jesus,  Jesus  who   died 

for  me. 

Chorus — 

Singing,  singing  the  live  long  day, 
Singing,  walking  the  narrow  way; 
Singing,  praising  Him  more  and  more. 
Always  singing  of  Jesus,  whom  I  adore. 

Always  singing  of  Jesus,  joy  of  the  con- 
trite, heart; 

Always  singing  of  Jesus,  chosing  the  bet_ 
ter   part; 

Always  singing  of  Jesus,  fountain  of  life 
to  me;  ^ 

Always  singing  of  Jesus,  light  of  Eternity. 

Always   singing   of  Jesus,  telling  Him  all 

my  grief; 
Always    singing    of    Jesus,    He    is    a    sure 

relief; 
Always  singing  of  Jesus,  singing  whatever 

betide; 
Always    singing    of    Jesus,    Shepherd    and 

faithful  Guide. 


CLEAR  SKY  UNES. 

A  thick  hide  may  be  good  for  an  ele- 
phant or  a  politician,  but  it  never  could 
help  an  honest  man. 

Don't  worry — unless  you  are  an  unmar- 
ried woman  of  35  or  more. 

Strange  how  some  men  will  put  a  dis- 
honest dollar  in  a  barrel  of  honest  dollars 
quicker  than  they  will  put  a  rotten  apple 
in  a  barrel  of  good  apples. 

Do  it  now — tomorrow  some  one  else  7nay 
have  done  it  and  collected  the  pay. 

I  like  the  truth  simply  because  the  truth 
always  has  been  my  unfailing  friend. 

We  hear  a  good  deal  about  the  Almighty 
Dollar,  but  ther  isn't  anything  almighty 
about  the  dollar — it  can't  even  buy  you  a 
new  conscience,  to  say  nothing  of  a  seat 
in  heaven. 


Do  not  try  to  find  fault  with  your  fel- 
low man,  but  try  to  correct  your  own. 


LITTLE  BREECHES. 

John  Hay. 

The  following  is  John  Hay's  most  fam- 
ous poem.  It  is  a  more  general  favorite 
than  ieven  ''Jim  Bludsoe. "  ,  These  verses 
are  included  in  the  ''Pike  County  Bal- 
lads." They  show  Mr.  Hay  as  a  master 
of  pathos  and  as  possessed  of  a  genius 
not  excelled  by  that  of  Bret  Harte's,  for 
reproducing  the  racy  dialect  and  thought 
of  the  West: 

I  don't  know  much  on  religion, 

I  never  ain't  had  no  show; 
But  I've  got  a  middlin'  tight  grip,  sir. 

On  the  handful  o '  things  I  know. 
I  don  't  pan  out  on  the  prophets. 

And  free.will,  and  that  sort  of  thing, — - 
But  I  b'lieve  in   God   and  the   angels. 

Ever  sence  one  night  last  spring. 


90. 


<i 


Picked  up  Here  and  There/' 


T  come  into  town  with  some  turnips, 

And  my  little  Gabe  eome  along, — 
No  four-year  old  in  the  county 

Could  beat  him  for  pretty  and  strong, 
Peart  and  chipper  and  sassy, 

Always  ready  to  swear  and  fight, — 
And  I'd  larnt  him  to  chaw  terbacker 

Jest  to  keep  his  milk-teeth  white. 

The  snow  come  down  like  a  blanket  , 

As  I  passed  by  Taggart's  store; 
1  went  in  for  a  jug  of  molasses, 

And  left  the  team  at  the  door; 
They   seared  at   something   and   started, — 

I  heard  one  little  squall, 
And  hell-to-split  over  the  prairie 

Went  team.  Little  Breeches  and  all. 

Hell-to-split  over  the  prairie! 

I  was  almost  froze  with  skeer; 
But  we  rousted  up  some  torches. 

And  sarched  for    'em  far  and  near. 
At  last  we  struck  hosses  and  wagon, 

Snowed  under  a  soft  white  mound, 
Upsot,  dead  beat, — but  of  little  Gabe 

No  hide  nor  hair  was  found. 
And  here  all  hope  soured  on  me 

Of  my  fellow.critter's  aid, — 
I  jest  flopped  down  on  my  marrow-bones. 

Crotch-deep*  in  the  snow,  and  prayed. 

By  this,  the  torches  was  played  out, 

And  me  and  Isrul  Parr 
Went  off  for  some  wood  to  a  sheepfold 

That  he  said  was  somewhar  thar. 

We  found  it  at  last,  and  a  little  shed 

Where  they  shut  up  the  lambs  at  night, 
We  looked  in  and  seen  them  huddled  thar, 

So  warm  and  sleepy  and  white; 
And  thar  sot  Little  Breeches  and  chirped, 

As  peart  as  ever  you  see, 
''I  want  a  chaw  of  terbacker. 

And  that's  what's  the  matter  of  me." 


HAIL,   COLUMBIA! 

By  Joseph  Hopkinson 

Hail  Columbia!   happy  land! 

Hail,  ye  heroes!   heaven-born  band! 

Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause, 

Who  fought  and  bled  in  freedom's  cause, 

And  when  the  storm  of  war  was  gone, 

Enjoyed  the  peace  your  valor  won. 

Let  independence  be  your  boast. 

Ever  mindful  what  it  cost; 

Ever  grateful  for  the  prize. 

Let  its  altar  reach  the  skies. 

Chorus — 

Firm,  united,  let  us  be, 
Eallying  round  our  Liberty; 
As  a  band  of  brothers  joined. 
Peace  and  safety  we  shall  find. 

Immortal  patriots!    rise   once   more; 
Defend  your  rights,  defend  your  shore, 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand, 
Let  no  rude  foe,  with  impious  hand. 
Invade  the  shrine  where  sacred  lies 
Of  toil  and  blood  the  well  earned  prize, 
While  offering  peace,  sincere  and  just, 
In  heaven  we  place  a  manly  trust, 
That  truth  and  justice  will  prevail, 
And  every  scheme  of  bondage  faiL 

Sound,  sound  the  trump  of  fame! 

Let  Washington's  great  name 

Eing  thro'  the  world  with  loud  applause, 

Eing  thro'  the  world  with  laud  applause; 

Let  every  clime  to  freedom  dear 

Listen  with  a  joyful  ear. 

With  equal  skill,  and  Godlike  power, 

He  governs  in  the  fearful  hour 

Of  horrid  war,  or  guides  with  ease 

The  happier  time  of  honest  peace. 


<c 


Gleanings  from   the  Gullies^ 


91. 


Behold  the  chief  who  now  commands, 
Once  more  to  serve  his  country  stands! 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat, 
The  rock  on  which  the  storm  will  beat, 
But  armed  in  virtue,  firm  and  true. 
His  hopes  are  fixed  on  heaven  and  vou. 
When  hope  was  sinking  in  dismay, 
When  glooms  obscured  Columbia's  day, 
His  steady  mind,  from  changes  free, 
Eesolved  on  death  or  liberty. 


FINED  FIFTY  DOLLARS. 


Justice  Fines  Tramp  $50  for  Playing  Cards 

in  a  Church  During  Service — Then 

Remits  the  Entire  Fine. 

.  At  Sunday  service  in  one  of  our  churches 
recently  a  tramp  was  seen  to  pull  a  pack 
<'f  cards  out  of  his  pocket  and  spreading 
them  out  on  the  seat  beside  him,  apparent, 
ly  for  the  purpose  of  playing  a  game  of 
solitaire,  he  was  immediately  arrested  and 
locked  up  until  Monday  morning,  then 
brought  before  a  Justice  of  the  Peace. 

"Well,  sir,  what  have  you  to  say  for 
3'ourself  ?" 

^'jMuch,  sir,  I  hope." 

"Yery  good;  if  not,  I  will  punish  you 
severely. ' ' 

"I  have  been  about  six  weeks  on  the 
road;  I  have  not  a  Bible  nor  common 
prayer  book;  I  have  nothing  but  a  pack 
of  cards,  and  I  hope  to  satisfy  your  honor 
of  the  purity  of  my  intentions. ' ' 

Then  spreading  the  cards  before  the 
Court  he  began  with  the  ace. 

' '  When  I  see  the  ace  it  reminds  me  that 
there  is  but  one  God. 

' '  When  I  see  the  deuce  it  reminds  me 
of  the  Father  and  the  Son. 

''When  I  see  the  trey  it  reminds  of  the 
Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost. 


''When  I  see  the  four  it  reminds  me  of 
the  four  Evangelists  that  preached — 
Matthew,  Mark,  Luke  and  John. 

"When  I  see  the  five  it  reminds  me  of 
the  five  wise  virgins  that  trimmed  their 
lamps.  There  were  ten,  but  five  were  wise 
and  five  were  foolish  and  were  shut  out. 

"When  I  see  the  six  it  reminds  me  that 
in  six  days  the  Lord  made  the  Heaven  and 
Earth. 

"When  I  see  the  seven  it  reminds  me 
that  on  the  seventh  day  God  rested  from 
the  great  work  which  He  had  made  and 
hallowed  it. 

"When  I  see  the  eight  it  reminds  me 
of  the  eight  righteous  persons  that  were 
saved  when  God  destroyed  the  world,  viz., 
Noalj  and  his  wife  and  their  three  sons 
and  their  wives. 

"When  I  see  the  nine  it  reminds  me  of 
the  nine  lepers  which  were  cleansed  by  our 
Saviour.  There  were  nine  out  of  ten  that 
never  returned  thanks. 

"When  I  see  the  ten  it  reminds  me  of 
the  ten  comandments  which  God  handed 
down  to  Moses  on  the  table  of  stone. 

"When  I  see  the  king  it  reminds  me  of 
the  great  King  of  Heaven,  which  is  God 
Almighty. 

"When  I  see  the  queen  it  reminds  me 
of  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  who  visited  Sol- 
omon, for  she  was  as  wise  a  woman  as  he 
was  a  man.  She  brought  with  her  fifty 
boys  and  fifty  girls,  all  dressed  in  boys' 
apparel,  for  King  Solomon  to  tell  which 
were  boys  and  which  were  girls.  The  king 
sent  for  some  water  for  them  to  wash.  The 
girls  washed  to  the  elbows  and  the  boys  to 
the  wrists;  so  King  Solomon  told  by  that. '^ 

"Fifty  dollars  fine,"  shouted  the  Justice 
in  all  his  indignation,  then  started  to  leave 
the  room,  but  suddenly  halted,  twirled  his 


92. 


'^Picked  tip  Here  and  There." 


mustache,  and  seemed  to  be  in  a  deep 
study.  Turning  to  the  tramp,  he  said  se- 
verely, ''You  have  described  every  card 
in  the  pack  except  one." 

''What  is  that?" 

"The  knave,"  replied  the  Justice. 
' '  I  will  give  your  honor  a  description  of 
that,  too,  if  you  will  not  be  angry." 

"I  will  not,"  said  the  Justice,  "  if  you 
will  not  term  me  to  be  the  knave." 

' '  The  greatest  knave  I  know  is  the  po- 
liceman who  brought  me  here." 

"I  don't  know  if  he  is  the  greatest 
knave,  bat  I  know  he  is  the  greatest  fool," 
said  the  Court. 

"When  I  count  how  many  spots  there 
are  in  a  pack  and  a  half  of  cards,  I  find 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five,  as  many  as 
there  are  days  in  a  year. 

"When  I  count  the  number  of  cards  in 
a  pack,  I  find  fifty-two,  representing  the 
number  of  weeks  in  a  year. 

"I  find  there  are  twelve  picture  cards 
in  a  pack,  representing  the  number  of 
months  in  a  year,  and  on  counting  the 
tricks  I  find  thirteen,  the  number  of  weeks 
in  a  quarter. 

' '  So  you  see^  a  pack  of  cards  serves  for 
a  Bible,  Almanac  and  Common  Prayer 
Book. ' ' 

The  Justice's  face  wore  a  smile,  and 
turning  to  the  tramp  again,  said:  "Don't 
let  this  happen  a:gain,  but  for  your  ingeni- 
ous description  I  will  remit  your  fine. ' ' 


BELOVED. 


"What's  the  matter!"  he  asked. 

•    "Oh,  I  feel  blue,"   she  replied.     "No_ 
body  loves  me  and  my  hands  are  cold." 

"You  should  not  say  that,"  was  his 
word  of  consolation,  "for  God  loves  you, 
and  your  mother  loves  you,  and  you  can 
sit  on  your  hands." — Success. 


He  was  very  bashful  and  she  tried  to 
make  it  easy  for  him.  They  were  driving 
along  the  seashore  and  she  became  silent 
for  a  time. 


THE  LEGACY  OF  PEACE. 

By  H.  A.  Brown. 

Jesus  said,  "Peace  I  leave  with  you. '^ 

What  a  priceless  legacy  He  has  left  us  I 

Peace  for  the  mind — peace  for  the  heart 
— peace  for  the  conscience. 

Peace  like  the  sweet  music  through  the 
morning  hours — peace  at  noon  like  the  soft 
shadows  resting  on  the  green  grass — ^peace 
at  sunset  like  the  infant's  sleep  on  the 
patient  mother's  breast. 

Peace  like  the  calm  in  the  deep  bosom 
of  the  ocean  when  storms  break  on  the 
surface. 

Peace  that  cannot  be  weighed  in  bal- 
ances or  measured  in  vessels  or  counted  in 
numerals — peace  that  lights  up  the  coun- 
tenance— reigns  like  a  queen  in  the  soul 
and  makes  melodious  our  poor  human 
speech. 

Peace  that  grows  beautiful  and  abundant 
like  the  shining  river — the  deep  fathomless 
peace  of  God! 

Dear   Saviour,  let   us  realize  this  peace 
when  the  shadows  grow  long  and  the  bur- 
dens seem  heavy  to  weary  failing  feet! 
"When  peace   like   a   river   attendeth   my 

way, 
When  sorrows,  like  sea  billows,  roll; 
Whatever  my  lot  thou  hast  taught  me  to 
say 
It  is  well,  it  is  well,  with  my  soul." 


i( 


Gleanings  from    the  Gullies. 


)} 


98. 


ANSWER  THESE  FOUR  QUESTIONS. 

By  Anna  Carter. 

Very  weary  one  evening  I  retired  to 
rest,  and  had  a  beautiful  dream  in  which 
T  saw  the  liquor  traffic  crushed  out  of  ex- 
istence. It  was  this  way:  I  saw  printed 
in  bold  type  at  the  beginning  of  the  first 
column  of  every  newspaper  in  the  world, 
certain    statements    and    questions.      They 

were  printed  week  after  week  and  in  that 
way  they  were  planted  in  the  minds  of 
all  intelligent  persons,  whether  they  meant 
them  to  be  or  not,  and  thus  a  mental  vote 
was  taken  without  regard  to  age  or  sex. 
'  This  continued  until  the  electrical  power 
of  concentrated*  thought  became  so  intense 
tliat  no  one  could  run  a  saloon. 

The  impression  has  deepened  that  God 
gave  me  this  dream  for  a  purpose,  and 
that  you  are  the  one  that  can  make  the 
ideal  a  reality.  For  this  purpose  I  submit 
it  for  your  consideration,  praying  that  you 
may  be  guided  by  divine  wisdom.  This  is 
what  I  saw,  standing  at  the  head  of  the 
first  column  of  every  newspaper  in  the 
world: 

''The  saloon  is  the  product  of  Satanic 
thought,  expressed  in  human  action  at  the 
ballot  box. 

''It  can  only  live  by  the  destruction  of 
human  beings. 

' '  It  will  go  by  Christian  thought  ex- 
pressed at  the  ballot  box. 

' '  When,  will  depend  upon  the  individual 
answers  to  the  following  questions: 

' '  1.  Do  I  want  a  saloon  to  destroy  me, 
or   any   of   mine? 

"2.  Do  I  want  it  to  destroy  any  one 
else  ? 


"3.  Will  I  consent  by  silence,  thought, 
word  or  ballot  to  the  continuance  of  the 
saloon? 

"4.  If  I  consent  by  silence,  thought, 
word  or  ballot  to  the  continuance  of  the 
t'Mlofii,  whar.  srsin-ance  hnve  I,  that  L,  or 
some  of  mine  will  not  be  among  its  vic- 
tims?" 


WHAT    IS    THE    MATTER    WITH    THE 
CHURCH? 

That  is  the  question  that  everybody  is 
asking  today.  The  Church  is  in  trouble 
and  is  about  to  be  stung,  ard  will  be  if 
someone  does  not  kill  the  deadly  snake  of 
worldliness  that  is  curled  around  it. 

Broad-gage  preachers  are  allowing  such 
broad-gage  people  to  join  the  Church  that 
you  cannot  tell  the  Christians  from  the 
worldly-minded.  Style  and  greed  are  two 
sisters  that  are  helping  Mr.  Snake  to  kill 
the  Church.  Church  Suppers  and  bazaars 
are  causing  the  '^Church  to  forget  that 
Christ  drove  the  money-changers  out  of 
the  Temple.  The  Church  was  once  a  place 
of  prayer  and  fasting.  It  is  no^^  a  place 
of  fun  and  feasting.  The  women  want  to 
rule,  and  the  men  are  too  cold  to  care. 
Preachers  are  afraid  to  tell  the  truth  to 
their  congregations,  and  the  love  of  money 
rules  day. 

What  Will  Kill  the  Snake? 

Straight  preaching  at  everything  in 
sight.  Tell  the  women  the  place  God  has 
made  for  her.  Wake  up  the  sleeping  men 
and  clean  out  the  old  hypocrites.  Preach 
straight  at  every  man  and  woman  in  the 
Church  that  is  not  obeying  the  laws  of 
God.  The  ministers  must  stop  patronizing 
the  theatres  and  preaching  in  them.  Have 
no  fellowship  with  works  of  darkness.  Do 
not    go    hand    and    glove    with    the    Devil. 


94. 


"Piched  ivp  Here  and  There." 


Vote  for  Christian  people  to  hold  office. 
Vote  a  straight  ticket  for  the  Lord.  Show 
no  quarter,  ask  none  of  the  enemies  of 
God's  Cause. 

Show  your  colors  at  all  times — that  kills 
the  Snake. 


THE  TWO  SINNERS. 

She  was  a  woman^  old  and  thin,  whom 
the  world  condemned  for  a  single  sin. 
They  cast  her  out  on  the  king's  highway, 
and  passed  her  by  as  they  went  to  pray. 
He  was  a  man  and  more  to  blame,  but  the 
world  spared  a  breath  of  shame.  Beneath 
his  feet  he  saw  her  lie,  but  he  raised  his 
head  and  passed  her  by.  They  were  the 
people  that  went  to  pray,  at  the  temple  of 
God  on  the  holy  day.  They  scorned  the  wo- 
man, forgave  the  man;  'twas  ever  thus 
since  the  world  began. 

Time  passed  on  and  the  woman  died;  on 
cross  of  shame  she  was  crucified.  The 
world  was  stern  and  would  not  yield,  and 
they  buried  her  in  the  potter's  field.  The 
man  died  too,  and  they  buried  him  in  a 
casket  of  cloth,  with  a  silver  brim,  and 
as  they  turned  from  the  grave  said,  '^we 
buried  a  noble  man  today.." 

Two  mortals  knocked  at  Heaven's  gate 
— stood  face  to  face  to  inquire  their  fate. 
He  carried  a  passport  with  an  earthly  sign, 
but  she  a  pardon  from  love  divine.  O  ye 
who  judge  'twix  love  and  vice  which, 
think  ye,  entered  Paradise?  Not  he  whom 
the  world  has  said  would  win,  but  the 
woman  alone  was  ushered  in. — Exchange. 


LITTLE  LOVE  TOKENS. 

Much  good  may  be  done  if  you  are  will- 
ing to  devote  a  little  time  to  it.  A  five- 
cent  writing  tablet  and  a  penny  pencil  will 
do  wonders.  I  know  an  ungrateful  daugh. 
Un-  who  has  not  written  to  her  mother  for 
three  years.  She  is  absorbed  in  her  own 
household  cares.  Here  is  a  chance  to  cheer 
a  fellow-being — the  field  is  white,  ready 
for  the  harvesters.  A  loving  letter  to  one 
who  has  buried  his  dead  will  comfort.  Jn_ 
^mlids  are  made  happy  by  kind  letters,  for 
in     some   places   the      neighbors    are      not 

friendly.  Sometimes  children  are  wayward, 
and  mothers  will  walk  the  floor  weeping  in 
anguish  of  spirit;  you  can  comfort  them 
with  a  little  loving  note.  Fathers  have 
sons  in  prison;  a  kind  word  of  sympathy 
does  not  require  much  effort.  Three  or 
four  times  a  year  I  devote  some  time  to 
these  '^love  letters."  I  like  best  to  cheer 
the  aged  and  neglected. 

An  old  lady  said,  ' '  Oh,  it  is  my  delight 
to  receive  letters;  just  think  of  it,  I  got 
five  this  week — from  my  son  in  the  regular 
army,  from  the  two  'girls,'  one  from  you 
and  Nelson." 


TO  THE  OPERATIVES  OF  PROXIMITY, 

REVOLUTION  AND  WHITE 

OAK  MILLS. 

By  G.  D.  Stutts,  Burlington,  N.  C. 

You    may    travel    from    the    torrid    to    the 

frigid  zone. 
You  will  never  meet  another  like   Caesar 

Cone — 
A  man  of  wealth  and  feeling  heart 
That   shares   with   his   employes   and   their 

part. 


it 


Gleanings  from  the  Gullies.'' 


95. 


When  first  he  came  to  Greensboro  town 
Things    took    a    sudden    turn    the    suburbs 

round, 
And  through  that  energetic  man 
Was  devised  a  wonderful  plan. 

Where  once  did  cry  the  whip-poor-wills 
He  has  erected  three  cotton  mills — 
First,  Proximity,  of  prodigious  size, 
Then  Eevolution,  before  our  eyes! 

Lastly  of  all,  the  great  White  Oak, 
Largest  of  all,  it  ain't  no  joke — 
You  hear  it  spoken  by  every  mouth — 
They  are  the  finest  equipped  in  the  South. 

The  boulevards  are  kept  so  neat, 
To  every  observer  it  is  a  treat; 
And  concrete  walks  on  every  side, 
And  electric  lights  your  feet  to  guide. 

Improvements  daily  he  is  making. 
For  your  comfort,  pains  is  taking, 
Artesian  water  will  soon  supply 
Each  and  all  familes,  wet  or  dry. 

One  thing  more  and  then  I  close, 
Your  wages  are  good  as  all  hands  knows; 
Treats  he  gives  each  Christmas  day, 
Which  drives  dull  care  and  pain  away. 

Another  I'll  mention,  you  cannot  deny. 
He  treats  you  the  Fourth  of  every  July. 
Let  us  pause  for  a  moment  to  thank,  now 

and  then. 
And  welcome   among  us  such  free-hearted 

men. 


THEY  SAY— 

They  say! — ah,  well,  suppose  they  do! 
But  can  they  prove  the  story  true 
Why  count  yourself  among  the  ' '  they ' ' 
Who  whisper  what  they  dare  not  say? 
Suspicion  may  arise  from  naught. 
But  malice,  envy,  wan;   of  thoughl. 

And  help  to  make  the  matter  worse. 
No  good  can  possibly  accrue 
From  telling  what  may  be  untrue? 


And  as  it  is  not  a  nobler  plan 
To  speak  of  all  the  best  you  can? 

They  say — well,  if  it  should  be  so,  , 
Why  need  you  tell  the  tale  of  woe. 
And  it  the  better  wrong  redress. 
Or  make  one  pang  of  sorrow  less, 
Will  it  the  erring  one  restore. 
Henceforth  to  ''go  and  sin  no  more?" 

They  say — Oh,  pause  and  look  within, 
See  how  thy  heart  inclines  to  sin; 
And  lest  in  dark  temptation's  hour 
Thou,  too,  shouldst  sink  beneath  its  power, 
Pity  the  frail,  weep  o'er  their  fall. 
But  speak  of  good  or  not  at  all. 


EXPERIENCE  TEACHES. 

''There's  nothing  like  experience,"  sai(I 
Captain  Eobert  C.  Warr  of  the  Campania, 
who  has  retired  from  sea  life  after  forty- 
nine  years'  service.  "When  the  young 
and  enthusiastic  and  bold  sneer  at  the 
caution  of  old  age,  I  think  of  the  two 
crows. 

'Look  at  that  beautiful  woman  in  the 
cornfield  there!"  a  young  crow  cried. 

"  'Beautiful  woman!  Nonsense!'  retort-, 
ed  the  old  bird.    'That's  a  scarecrow,' 

"  'But  how  do  you  know  it's  a  scared- 
crow?' 

' '  '  Because  there 's  no  man  about.  Do> 
you  suppose  a  beautiful  woman  would  loaf 
all  day  long  in  one  place  if  there  wasn't  a 
man  somewhere  near  to  admire  herj" 

"  'I'm  sure  it's  a  ueautiful  won-au,  *  in- 
sisted the  young  crow.  'And  there,  too,  is 
ft  man's  figure  behind  tli3  oak.  I'm  going 
over  to  size  her  up. ' 

"And  the  young  crow  flew  off,  and  a  guB 
banged,  and  a  few  minutes  later  he  cam© 
limping  back  with  a  broken  wing  and  a 
hole  in  his  leg, 

"  'Aha,'  sneered  the  old  crow,  'you 
youngsters  are  all  alike — think  you  know 
more  about  women  than  your  elders!'  " 


96. 


<< 


Picked  up  Here  and  There.' ^ 


THE  LAST  WORD. 

A  litle  giil  traveling  in  a  sleeping  car 
with  her  parents  greatly  objected  to  being 
put  in  an  upper  berth,  says  the  Kansas 
City  Star.  She  was  assured  that  papa, 
mamma  and  God  would  watch  over  her. 
She  was  settled  in  the  berth  at  last  and 
the  passengers  were  quiet  for  the  night 
when  a  small  voice  piped: 

''Mamma." 

''Yes,  dear." 

".You  there?" 

"Yes,  I'm  here.     Now  go  tc  sleep." 

"Papa,  you  there!" 

"Yes,  I'm  here.  Go  to  sleep  like  a  good 
girl. ' ' 

This  continued  at  intervals  for  some 
time,  until  a  fellow  passenger  lost  patience 
aiul  called: 

"We're  all  here.  Your  father  and 
mother  and  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
uncles  and  aunts  and  first  cousins.  All 
here.     Now  go  to  sleep!" 

There  was  a  brief  pause  after  this  ex- 
plosion. Then  the  tiny  voice  piped  up 
again,  but  very  softly ; 

'Mamma!" 

' '  Well. ' ' 

"Was  that  God?" 


JUST  SMILE. 

By  V.  M.  Hatfield. 

Smile   when   you're    all   alone;    smile   in   a 

crowd. 
Smile  awhile  softly,  then  out  loud. 
Smile  from  your  brow  to  the  point  of  your 

chin; 
Smile  on  the  outside,  and  then  smile  in. 


Smile  when  the  sun  shines;  smile  when  it 

rains. 
Smile  in  the  meadows;   smile  through  the 

lanes. 
Let  other  people  grumble  and  revile; 
Just    keep    feeling    good    and    keep    that 

smile. 

Smile,  when  you've  roast  beef;  smile  when 

it's  hash. 
Smile    when    your    business    is    going    tp 

smash. 
Smile    when   you    can't    have    things   your 

way. 
Smile  when  you're  singing  and  smile  while 

you  pray. 

Smile  when  you  have  no  work  to  do. 
Smile  when  you  have  so   much  you  can't 

get  through, 
Maybe  your  best  coat's  way  out  of  style — 
Go  in  shirt  sleeves  but  wear  that  smile. 

Smile  by  a  fixed  rule;  smile  off-hand, 
Smile  when  you  can't  even  understand. 
Smile  like  a  hen  determined  to  set. 
Smile  like  a  race  horse  winning  a  bet. 

Every  time  dyspepsia  makes  an  attack 
Smile  like  a  jester  and  drive  it  back. 
Beats  all  the  doctors'  seventeen  mile. 
Quit  taking  a  physic  and  take  a  smile. 

Smile  life-size  if  you  're  a  married  man. 
If  you're  a  bachelor  smile  if  you  can. 
Smile  at  a  funeral — don't  disgrace 
Even  a  dead  man  by  making  a  face. 

Maybe  that  scowl  has  grown  on  tight, 
Dislocate  your  features  and  set  them  right. 
Smooth  out  the  wrinkles,  get  rid  of  your 

bile ; 
Everybody  loves  you  when  you  smile. 


INDEX 


Annabel    Lee 6 

A  Little   Pilgrim    7.9 

A    Eailroad    Man 's    Prayer    13-14 

A    Tramp 's    Eloquent    Lecture    27-28 

After    the    Ball 40 

A    Mirage    45 

A  Voice  from  the  Poorhouse    45-46 

A   Woman 's   Story    47 

At    Night    51-52 

A   Drummer 's   Dream 66-67 

A  Little  Child  Shall  Lead  Them   68-69 

A    Prayer     76-77 

According    to    Precedent     78 

A    Eecitation 81 

Answer  These  Four  Questions    93 

Beautiful    Hands 9 

Brush   Off  Your   Own   Doorsteps    18 

Beautiful    Snow 28-29 

Blind    Girl 's   Death,   The    30 

Burlington    Chips 32 

Bald   Headed    Man,   The 33-34 

Boys  Keep  Away  from  the  Girls    37 

Burlesque    on    Professional    Men    . : 37-38 

Babes  in  the  Woods,  The    53-55 

Big   Falls    Hymn 61 

Booze ' 79 

Beloved     92 

Christ 's  Lilies 9 

Come  Home,  Father 22-23 

Carry  Me  Back  to  Old  Virginia    35 

Cheer   Up    50 

Contrasts    60 

Clear  Sky  Lines 89 

Drunkard's   Soliloquy,   The    10 

Dear  Heart .         20 

Down  by  the  Banks  of  the  Eosa   39-40 

Dried  Apple  Pies    41 

Down  by  the  Old  Mill  Stream   So 

Dreaming    87 


Express  to  Sleep  Town,  The 55 

Extended  Credit    80 

Experience   Teaches    , ...         95 

Farewell   Old    Home IS-l:') 

Fatal  Wedding,   The    •  • l1-22 

Factory  Ehyme,  A 26-27 

Fifty  Years  Ago 41 

Fifty   Cents    ] 41-42 

Face  on  the  Floor,  The   , -12-44 

Four  Essentials 50 

I'irst    Mortgage,    The    . 57-58 

Flowers  Will  Come  in  May,  The    62 

I'ellowship , 72 

i'or  Love 's  Sake   75 

Fined  Pifty   Dollars .    91-92 

Great  Lake  Eailroad 14 

Grandfather 's  Clock  25 

Good  Old  Summer  Time 64 

God  Is  Love   58 

Hoodoo   Coin,  A 10 

Home,  Sweet  Home 23-24 

Ho,  For  Carolina  24 

Home  in  Mother 's  Absence 27 

How  to  Live   (  . . .  52 

Helpful    Thoughts 69 

Hobble  Skirt,  The    - 79 

Hail  Columbia 90-91 

In  the  Baggage  Coach  Ahead   6-7 

I  '11  Eemember  You,  My  Love,  in  My  Prayers 20 

I'll  Be  All  Smiles  Tonight   23 

I  'se    'Gwine  Back  to  Dixie    36 

If   51 

Just  as  the  Sun  Went  Down   11 

Just  for  Today 56 

Just  Set  a  Light 71 

Just  Drop  a  Line  to  Mother 73 

John  T.  Pullen   70 

Just  Smile 96 

Kiss  Me  Mother,  etc 17-18 

Kitty  Wells 34-35 

Knowledge  . . 62 


'Lesson  in  Mo<lern  Life  ... , -...,.... ■. .  .        49 

Little  Breeches . 89-90 

ILittle  Love  Tokens    94 

Model   Churchy  The    5 

Mother 17-18 

Memory  of  Jeruslia  Stutts 3H 

Mother's  Good  Bye 47-48 

My  School 65 

Mother 's  Way    in 

Make  Others  Hapx3y 74 

Mary  and  Willie •  • 75-76 

Man  and  His  Shoes 77 

JMother .  81 

Naomi  Wise ,  .  .  ,  .  ^  ,  -.  .         31 

New   Version ....,........>......         86 

On  the  Banks  of  the  Wabash ,.,...... 13 

Original  Dixie •..-.....  1-5 

Old  Cottage  Home    — 15-16 

Orphan  Oirl,  The   -. 19-20 

Old  Cabin  Home 21 

Old  Oaken  Bucket    , 25-26 

Only  Been  Down  to  the  Club   36 

Omissions   71-72 

Operatives  of  Proximity^  Eevolution,  etc 94-95 

Put  Your  Trust  in  Him 86 

Plea  for  Factory  People   12-13 

Put  My  Little  Shoes  Away   22 

Peace    .' , 49 

Pa 's  Uncle  Joe 55-56 

Eock  of  Ages . , 64-65 

Eemembrance 74 

Eosa  O  'Grady    , 36 

St.   Peter   at   the   Gatt.    , 16-17 

Sweet  Marie 31-42 

Shadows  on  the  Wall ^ 48 

Stray   Shots 49 

Simple  Questions .         52 

Sand  Man,  The .         78 

Sometime,  Somewhere 80 

Truth    14 

The   Tramp 29-30 


Tliat  Car   ., 32: 

Take  Back  Your  Gold ^ 38-39 

Two  Little  Girls  in  Blue 40 

The  New  Name 47 

The  Saloon  Bar ^ 48 

The  Eed  Cross  Man 49^ 

Things  That  Abide   . . . , 50* 

The  World 's   Creditor ^.. .  52' 

The  Transgressor .,.,.. 55 

'The  Female  of  the  Species 63' 

Temperahee  Addition 63-64 

Time  Brings  Chang^es  , , , •. . ., .  67' 

The    Church    / 70' 

Twenty  Years  Ago ,  . 70-71 

The  Telephone  Girl ^ 72* 

The  Wise  One , , .  . 76 

The  Fool 's  Prayer    , 77 

The  Volunteer  Organist 79 

The   Wise   Choice .. .  . , 85 

Things  You  Should  Know 82-84 

The  Fresh  Air , 87 

Th«  Legacy  of  Peace  92" 

The  Two  Sinners ^.  ^ 94 

The^'   Say 95 

The  Last  Word , 9^ 

A^illage  Blacksmith,  The , 11-12 

What  a  Boy  Could  Do 11 

Where  Is  My  Boy  Tonight  1 II 

When  You  and  I  Were  Young ,.,.,, 21 

What  Caused  the  Hard  Times?   , 32-33 

A¥ait  'Till  the  Clouds  Roll  By 35 

Washerwoman  ^s  Song,  The  . , 44 

W^ishing , .  , , , . .  52 

What  Have  We  Bone  Todayf  57 

What  Matters  Itl 58 

When  First  I  Heard  of  Holiness   59 

When  It  Gets  Dry  in  Kansas 60 

What 's  Coming  to  You? 78 

When   I  Get  Time 81 

Who  Started  Itf 84 

Wanted— A  Minister 's  Wife    . 88-89 

What  Is  the  Matter  With  the  Church   93 

You  '11  Miss  Your  Mother  When  She 's  Gone  80 


I 


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